A Gentleman in the Making
by Your-Apocalypses
Summary: Elizabeth, disguised as Elliot Bennet, attends Cambridge in the same years as Darcy. Soon, events force them to room together. Banter, arguments, mischief, and a hint of a blossoming College romance ahead! Regency Era.
1. A Peculiar Encounter (With the Ground)

**Rating:** 16+ just to be on the safe side, even though nothing too explicit will happen  
**Warning: **This chapter is not beta read, so if you find any mistakes, whether grammatical or historical, please do tell me and I will fix them! Also, English is not my first language. I welcome criticism with wide open arms, but please be kind!

**Summary:** Elizabeth, disguised as Elliot Bennet, attends Cambridge at the tender age of fourteen. She has to cope with a society full of men and get to know her (future) roommate, the serious, fastidious and infuriating Mr. Darcy. Although inspired by your typical college romance story, this one will mostly explore that maddening period when students lose their name of boys... and have to act the part of men! Without further ado, I present you...

* * *

**A Gentleman in the Making**

**Chapter 1: A Peculiar Encounter (with the Ground)**

When questioned upon the utility of collegial education, it seems that at least half of the undergraduates are of the opinion that Cambridge and other such institutions serve more as a means to divert its residents rather than instruct. These students, in fact, often affectionately refer to themselves as "sporting men" as opposed to those whom, fastidious and ill-tempered, fancy themselves "reading men". A clear distinction is to be made, as third-years would assure newcomers, for these two categories of students are clearly defined and seldom confused. Whereas sporting men strive for things such as amusement and distinction, reading men labour to graduate with honours enough to compensate for the former's lack of academic success.

If one were to inquire after Elizabeth Bennet's first impression of Cambridge as her carriage drove down Trinity Street, she would be compelled to answer honestly: it all seemed too good to be true. She was a young woman that possessed as little wealth as experience of the world, and the very idea of a superior institution of education (reserved strictly for men) within reach of her, seemed too much to believe. Yet believe it she must, for with each sway of the carriage, a little more of the inner corners of the Great Gate were revealed. She clasped her hands tightly together in an effort to contain her excitement, for the Elizabethan building only grew taller with each passing moment, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from jumping off the car and running the rest of the distance to the school. It was just a little before noon, and with most residents rushing to the dining Hall, very few remained to crowd the entrance.

"Well my dear Lizzy," began Mr. Bennet as he fondly patted her intertwined hands. "I daresay that with such a prospect before you, three months shall not pass before you become entirely too bored with it and come running back home. Indeed, what are you to do without the diversion provided by your younger sisters and your mother and her nerves?"

Elizabeth, recognizing her father's attempt at alleviating his own reluctance to part with his favourite daughter, tried to lighten the mood. "I shall not deign to answer you, sir, for I do not recognize any person named Lizzy here at all!" she professed with an impertinent smile and an arch in her brow.

"Forgive me, _Elliot_, I was not aware that the name was required attired as you are," Mr. Bennet countered good humouredly. For surely enough, Elizabeth, or rather Elliot, as she would prefer herself, looked nothing short of a gentleman's daughter in her cream muslin gown and bonnet.

"Certainly, it is a pardonable mistake," she conceded saucily. "My appearance might not yet have undergone significant metamorphose, but I dearly wish to become accustomed to my new name before being unpleasantly surprised should one of my peers decide to use it. Surely, being unable to answer to one's own name might be attributed to a case of severe foolishness and I would rather not want to, as mama would say, ruin our family's good name."

Mr. Bennet could not resist answering to such impertinent banter with a hearty laugh. "Enough of that, Lizzy," he said soberly once the effusion passed and the carriage halted. "You had better leave before I reconsider my decision. To think that I am sending you to live for three years amidst young men, half of which probably as silly as your younger sisters…"

"Papa..."

"No, no, do not interrupt me. How you managed to convince me of this, I shall never understand. Ten years into the future, I am certain I will look upon this day and berate myself for spoiling you thus. But no matter, you need not look at me like that young lady, for we are already arrived and little would come out of this lengthy trip if you were to return with me."

Once convinced of his own reasoning, Mr. Bennet climbed out of the carriage and firmly shut the door. Soon, blinds were drawn over the windows and the next person to exit the vehicle was attired in such a manner that Mr. Bennet needed not assist them out.

* * *

In truth, the passageway from the Great Gate to the dormitories could not have taken more than five minutes to cross. After securing the key to her quarters where the footmen settled her luggage, Elliot Bennet decided to challenge this belief and took her time walking along the lanes of Trinity College. The second time, she prided herself in taking seven minutes from the entrance to her room. Along the way, she noticed a particular patch of greenery, comprised mostly of climbing plants, shrubs and large trees that cast into shade a corner where two buildings met. Situated right outside her dorm, she judged it would be the perfect place to hide should she wish to amble about as Elizabeth. She would not want to be seen walking out of Elliot's dorm dressed in womanly gowns and summarised that she could quickly run from her chambers and hide in that secluded corner. Once she made sure no one was about, she would emerge once more and pretend to be walking the grounds. After all, visitors of the fairer sex, mostly accompanied with their families, were seen often enough visiting these areas during the permissible hours. Elliot was certain she would welcome the occasion to shed her breeches and her wig for the alternative of feminine gowns and natural hair once every fortnight or so.

As of now, the urge to return to the confinement of womanly clothes was nowhere to be found. In fact, Elliot presumes that no member of the fairer sex, after having adorned a gentleman's clothes, would find the tightness of a corset superior to its masculine alternative. Granted, Elliot was not yet fifteen, and unlike her elder sister Jane, had yet to experience the inevitable physical changes that womanhood brought about. This convenience, she would take for granted for many a month to follow.

Before dinner, Elliot had already familiarized herself with her new environment. She had secured her schedule for the entire Michaelmas term, visited the classrooms she was to frequent, collected her cap and gown, peeked with a blush or two into the (currently unoccupied) common baths, and even found a particularly becoming tree to climb sometime in the future. Once everything was settled for the beginning of class two days hence, Elliot felt confident enough to face her peers, most of whom convalesced in the dining Hall.

She had barely managed to collect her meal when a tall man collided into her. Elliot was rather displeased that her quick action only managed to salvage half her soup, the rest of which spilled on the tray. Once in equilibrium again, any words of civility she had in mind for the tall man quickly died in her throat. The offender glared at her, his form straightened as if to remind her of his physical superiority. Elliot esteemed he could not have been older than one-and-twenty. Without even a word of acknowledgement, his brisk pace brought him to the very end of the Hall where he settled down alone and proceeded to eat his dinner.

Collegiates should have manners superior to that of a spoilt child's, Elliot thought fervently, but ended up pursing her lips to prevent the snide remark from escaping. She had not taken two steps forward when a strong slap landed upon her shoulders, causing her to spill whatever was left of her soup. Her lips, she could no longer prevent it, opened disbelievingly at the remarkable turn of the evening and she directed her most menacing glare to the new offender.

He was a handsome man, not as tall as the first, but with such a becoming smile stretched upon his face that once again made Elliot's words die in her throat.

"Well, old sport!" he began, giving her shoulders a few more pats as he spoke. "You should not let yourself be bullied so by that fag[1] Darcy! Pray, how old are you? You look quite young for a Trinitarian[2]."

"Sir…" Elliot managed to choke out, baffled at this gap between what she was taught of civility and what was practised in the University.

"Beg your pardon, George Wickham at your service," the fellow said with a mock bow.

"Elliot Bennet. I am fourteen, Mr. Wickham," she replied. She was about to curtsey when she suddenly realized at the imprudence of doing so. Instead, she bowed rather stiffly and prayed he had not seen through her act.

"Fourteen! Why that is the youngest age to attend College," he replied with a grin. "Well, Elliot," he continued, adopting the name without her permission, "I have not seen you around so I assume you are newly moved in."

"You assume correctly, sir."

"Sir? That is such a tedious way of speaking. Call me Wickham, for we are to be often thrown into each other's company for the next three years, are we not?"

Elliot thought that this man, for all the roughness he had shown her, was a rather pleasant and outgoing person. He had no way of knowing she was actually a woman and therefore concluded he had acted just as any other of his sex ought. With a becoming smile, she decided she would like to become better acquainted with him. "And have you noticed, Mr. Wickham, that your enthusiasm has cost me my soup for the evening?" she countered, hoping it was appropriate to tease in such a manner between men. "What shall you do now, for I am quite cross with you."

"Let me remedy that immediately then, Elliot!" Wickham led the way to a table where a few other men sat, and gestured Elliot to take a seat in front of him. He then offered the soup from his own plate to him.

Elliot was pleasantly surprised with such an act of kindness and gratefully accepted the offer. Soon, a joint was passed down the table, each man taking an ample portion of the roasted meat. Elliot decided to take a size comparative of her peers, for fear of being suspected should she instead take a lady's amount. However, a few bites later, she found she could not finish it at all. Instead, she pushed the meat around in her plate while listening to her peers banter.

"This is peculiar indeed," began the man to her right. "You are the first I know that cannot finish his portion of joint! We fellow Trinity Bulldogs[3] are known across campus to devour our meals faster than any other Cambridge freshman."

"Come, give Elliot a chance," Wickham said defensively. "He is but fourteen and has just moved in. Rather late, considering classes are starting in two days, I give you, but I'm sure he will grow into a good and _loyal _friend." With that said, Wickham gulped down the remaining piece of meat in Elliot's plate to the sound of clapping and cheering of his friends. Once he finished chewing, he stood up and again gave a mock bow.

As the both of them left the Hall in favour of their dorms, Elliot could no longer resist thanking him for his kindness earlier.

"You give me too much credit, for I assure you I only wanted a little more of that roasted pork," he replied good-naturedly.

"And are you headed toward your quarters, Mr. Wickham?" Elliot asked, for they had been walking in the same direction for quite some time.

"Indeed, I am. Perhaps we live close together," he replied.

Wickham could not have been more correct, since both of them stopped at the same time, with Elliot's chambers being directly to Wickham's left. "Well, it seems we are to be neighbours" she remarked with a lift of her brows.

"Then we have much to anticipate in the following years. If you need me, I will be at the Combination room. There is a wine party tonight that I dearly wish to attend." With a last pat on Elliot's shoulders, Wickham disappeared into his room.

Once safely settled in her own quarter, Elizabeth pulled her wig off and heaved a sigh of relief as her natural curls cascaded down her shoulders. Most of her belongings had already been unpacked and scattered across the chamber. Only a locked suitcase containing her gowns and other womanly accoutrements remained safely hidden under her bed. A tray of wine stood on the table in her living room but she paid it no heed. Instead, she skipped into her study and penned a lengthy letter to her sister Jane, detailing her voyage from Hertfordshire to Cambridge and her first day in College. Although it could not have been later than seven by the time she was done, the carriage ride and the activity of the day tamed even Elizabeth's spirit. She quickly washed her face in the bassin, unlocked the case where she kept her feminine nightgowns and quickly settled for bed.

* * *

Elizabeth rose with the sun on Tuesday morning with a growing anticipation for the beginning of class. Since they would not start for another day, she decided to try walking the grounds as a woman on her last free day. She would test the secrecy of that secluded corner right outside her chambers and determine how often she could change her identity without being suspected. She quickly slipped on a pale yellow gown, pulled up her gloves and fastened her bonnet. Since it was very early in the morning, she dared to crack open her door and peek outside. Seeing no one in sight, she quickly bounded for her safe haven. It took her but a few seconds to reach her destination and, shielded by the greenery, she finally released the breath she was holding.

A little off to the side, a very becoming tree, covered with thick leaves and blessed with sturdy lower branches tempted her closer. Very few people roamed the corridors in front of the dorms so early in the morning since most of them were still happily snoring in their beds from the previous night's wine party. Biting her lips as she considered whether acting so inappropriately was prudent, it wasn't long before her passion defeated her reason and she hastily hoisted herself up the tree. She was still very young after all, and her neighbours were certainly not conscious enough to chastise her on her behaviour.

Once high enough to be hidden amidst the leaves, Elizabeth heaved a sigh of satisfaction. She peeked through the foliage to admire the beauty of the school grounds. Perched atop some of the highest branches, she could see the sun steadily climbing up the sky in the East. As she turned the other way, she could distinguish the famous Cam river flowing steadily downstream and bereft of its equally famous boating men. (Once again, they were happily snoring in their own quarters).

By six o'clock, some of the early risers would begin to prepare for the day. Although they rarely ventured outside their room before seven, Elizabeth felt it prudent for her to return to her bedchamber and change into Elliot. As her attention was solely focused on climbing down the tree and making as little noise as possible, she had not noticed, until the very last moment, that a man sat at the bottom of the trunk with a book.

Despite her best efforts, the branches rattled as she neared the ground. As the man began to lift his eyes up to the noise, she realized all at once that by doing so, he could view not only her ankles, but the entirety of what was supposed to be hidden beneath her dress! She bit her lips to muffle a squeal of indignation, and in her panic, she slipped on the lowest branch and fell the rest of the way down.

Thankfully, she did not land upon the man, but a little to his right. Her gown had landed in such a fashion that her womanly sensibilities were completely covered. Except for a dull ache on her lower back, Elizabeth felt that she had much to be grateful for. As she glanced up, however, she noticed the man staring back at her, his eyes wide with befuddlement and a hint of disapproval. Several leaves that had fallen with her had nestled their way into his otherwise impeccable hair. At once, she recognized the tall student that had bumped into her the previous day at the Hall and she quickly lowered her face. Of all the people she was to obfuscate in such a manner, why did it have to be him? What if he had recognized her? What if, in a fury, he denounced her to the Head Master and expelled her from school? Everything she had done in the past two years to convince her father of sending her here would have been in vain!

"You must excuse me for my bluntness madam, but I believe this rather peculiar encounter has robbed me of any sensible vocabulary. Pray tell, what in the world were you doing up that tree?" the man asked, his eyes still wide with surprise and his hands fervently plucking the leaves from his head.

"I…" Elizabeth began, but was quite lost to finish her sentence.

"Do you live nearby?" he said, glancing at her clothes which definitely did not pertain to that of a maid. "Women of your age seldom visit the institution at such an hour. And you seem quite alone. Surely your family would disapprove of such behaviour."

Elizabeth's joy at his words was simply too grand to be described. The gentleman had not only failed to recognize her as Elliot, but had already constructed a plausible explanation to her presence here. She need not lie, nor even respond to his queries. She was significantly different enough in her womanly attire as not to be associated with her impersonification of Elliot. Best of all, she was not to be kicked out of Cambridge! Elizabeth bit her lower lip to contain her joy and kept her face down so as not to give the man further chance of recognizing her. She did not answer his questions, instead, she quickly curtsied and rushed out of the College gate. She dared not look back, and most definitely did not walk toward her chambers, but before long her laughter escaped at the folly of the event that morning.

She could not have known that his gaze followed her until she disappeared through the Gate, and she definitely was not aware that the man, despite his rigid upbringing, rejoiced in the sound of her laughter after the difficult night he had spent yesterday.

* * *

Elizabeth exhausted the rest of the morning by walking down Trinity Street, taking care not to attract too much attention. She decided that she had no choice but to miss going to the Chapel at seven that morning. She did not want to risk encountering the tall man… Mr. Darcy, if she remembered correctly. Elizabeth dared to walk as far as Christ College before retracing her steps. By the time she returned to Trinitarian grounds, it was already noon. She expertly sneaked inside amidst other visitors.

Elizabeth found her hiding spot and, when the halls were once more deserted, quietly returned to her room. There, she switched into Elliot's garments and went to lunch. To her satisfaction, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. She dined again with Mr. Wickham and his friends, then ate a light supper in her room. She retired early in anticipation of the morow's classes.

**TBC**

[1] Fag: A person who reads and labours hard.  
[2] Trinitarian: Undergraduate that studies at Trinity College, Cambridge  
[3] Trinity bulldogs: another term for students who study at Trinity College, Cambridge. (Although the rest of the sentence is a fabrication entirely of my own)

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What do you think will happen next? Don't forget to haul some rotten tomatoes (or flowers, if possible!) at me! Comment below!


	2. A New Acquaintance (to Avoid)

One million thanks to Linda B (oregonclematis) and Jim (cfsdad) for beta reading this chapter! You do not understand how much better they have made the story!

For all of you out there who are thinking that Mr. Bennet would never randomly let Elizabeth go to University; that wearing a wig instead of simply cutting Elizabeth's hair is weird; that she insists on walking about in her feminine clothes despite the risks of being found out is ridiculous; that she cannot do anything with her degree after her graduation... well, you are all correct. Except that there is a clear explanation to all of these actions, which I hope you will find believable once it is revealed. It's nothing extraordinary (aliens did not take possession of Mr. Bennet's brain), but it _will _be brought to light in time. In fact, hints are dropped here and there in every new chapter. Hopefully, you'll be able to catch a few of them!

As for now, please simply enjoy the ride and trust me with the rest! (Updates every week, for those who are wondering!)

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**Chapter 2: A New Acquaintance (That Elliot Dearly Wished She Could Avoid)**

Elizabeth, or rather, Elliot Bennet did not understand, until this very moment, just what a capital mistake it was to have missed Chapel services the previous day.

The morning started pleasantly enough, with Elizabeth rising early and preparing for the beginning of class. After securing every strand of natural hair inside her wig and making sure to favour breeches over trousers—they were becoming increasingly unpopular in the Hall and in the classrooms—she finally felt ready to begin the day. She made her way to the Chapel a quarter of an hour ahead of time and arrived early for the morning service. To her surprise, the tall man, Mr. Darcy, was already there, seated far away from the rest of his peers. Elliot cringed when the wooden floor of the Chapel creaked with her every step. Needless to say, the noise made a few heads turn. She lowered her eyes, hoping to avoid the disagreeable tall man as much as possible.

Fortunately for her, he had no interest in newcomers and did not even bother to lift his head from perusing his prayer book. Elliot sat as far away from him as she could and waited for the ceremony to commence. She was greatly anticipating the beginning of class by the time the service came to a close. As the students left the premises, and as she was preparing to follow their lead, the vicar presiding at the Chapel came to meet her.

"Mr. Bennet, I presume?"

Smiling, Elliot answered in the affirmative.

"I have heard that you moved in during the afternoon of Monday last?" he asked.

"You are again correct, sir," she replied.

"But you did not attend Chapel yesterday morning."

"I..." she stumbled, blushing at being thus reprimanded in front of her peers. Most of them had already left, but those remaining made very little noise and sent half-pitying, half-amused smirks her way. "Circumstances..." Elliot tried again but could not finish. She had no intention of lying inside a sacred institution (or ever) but she certainly could not explain the previous day's mishap to the man. She finally settled for a heartfelt apology and hoped for the best.

"You must understand, Mr. Bennet, that I was employed herein by a highly-generous and benevolent benefactress. She graciously instructed me during my first day presiding over the Chapel in Clare College that I must take my employment very seriously." He paused for breath and moved one step closer to her.

Elliot bit her lip and forced herself to remain in place.

"Her Ladyship has connections with the one that, six generations before us, founded Clare College. But she is such a liberal benefactress, you see, and so displeased with the relatively-smaller size of the Chapel in Clare that she assured me she would make every possible effort to bestow upon me a more generous living."

To this Elliot gave no response, for she could not see how any of the previous information concerned her.

After a short pause to wipe the beads of sweat upon his forehead, the vicar continued. "My noble patroness has insisted, upon my coming to Trinity College, that a living at Hunsford shall be reserved for me once it falls vacant. However, I am to assume a severe approach to disciplining young, lost freshmen in this College. 'Mr. Collins,' said she, 'you must not tolerate any unseemly behaviour in the youngsters. You must discipline them with alacrity when they err. Should they dare dismiss service at the Chapel even once, you must correct them by ensuring that they learn by heart some work or another of Homer or Virgil."

Elliot dared not be insolent in front of the vicar on the first day of class, no matter how ridiculous his character appeared. She was therefore resigned to receiving her punishment with grace and dignity. She lowered her eyes in deference to his authority and waited, but the other did not continue his discourse until she chanced a glance at him. Once he caught her eye, he took another step closer and this time Elliot could not refrain from backing away by the same margin.

"Have you heard of _The Aeneid_, Mr. Bennet?"

Elliot answered in the affirmative.

"You are to memorize the first fifteen pages; it is your punishment. I hope you will not repeat the grave mistake of neglecting matins again in the future. If there is but one thing my noble patroness hates above a lack of discipline, it is a character that fails to change in accordance to her wishes. Now, if I do say so myself, _that_ is a failing indeed."

Although Elliot had earlier vowed not to be impertinent in her address to the vicar, her youth prevented her from completely reining back her impatience in the face of his tedious nature. "How long do I have?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she continued: "Fifteen pages... I believe I can do it in less than five minutes. Certainly, you would not wish me to take up any further precious moments that you might better employ in contemplation of your most deserving benefactress."

Shocked at her forwardness but pleased by her apparent deference to his favourite person, the clergyman was maladroit in his reply. "Five... five minutes?"

"May I begin immediately?" Elliot asked.

"B-begin?" the other stammered.

Elliot, rather impatient to leave, decided to interpret his reply as an agreement. She then wasted no time in reciting Virgil.

"Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,

And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,

Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore."

In truth, Elliot did not remember exactly what part of the poem concluded page fifteen. She hoped at first she would be able to recite approximately to that point in the time she allowed herself. However, now she rather hoped, indeed suspected, that the vicar himself did not know what lay at the start of page sixteen. Her suspicions were confirmed when, by the time she finished reciting, the vicar's jaw had nearly dropped to the floor.

"B-but... but how?" he asked fervently as he paced in front of her. "You have yet to have opened the book! How could you know the content inside, let alone recite it?"

"Sir, I memorized this particular work of Virgil when I was younger." She did not tell him, however, that she knew from her father—who had also attended Cambridge in his youth—that students were often punished by the forced learning of verses from Homer or Virgil. In anticipation of attending University, Elliot had memorized some of them by heart with another sibling.

"But of course! How could I not have surmised that! Certainly, you must have known the verses beforehand. That is, without doubt, the only plausible explanation, for not even my noble benefactress has accomplished such a feat. I assure you, however, that her instincts are sometimes so accurate, I find myself wondering how she could possibly be so constantly correct in all matters. No, perhaps I was wrong after all. She, of all people, _could_ possess such a gift for knowing verses without requiring prior study, after all!"

Fortunately for Elliot, the vicar was so pleased with his newfound conviction in the mental acuity of his patroness that he dismissed her quite immediately so as to reflect upon his favourite person in the confines of his study.

Despite all her tact, Elliot did not dare release a sigh of frustration before turning the corner and looking back to make sure the vicar was not following. Just then, a firm slap landed upon her shoulders, causing her to stagger forward.

"Elliot you naughty chap! The first day of school barely begins and you have already been scolded by the Chapel's vicar!"

Despite her heightened colour at being caught in a delicate situation, Elliot nonetheless sent a welcoming smile to Mr. Wickham. "I am sure if I continue in this manner, you would not want to smack me half so often by the end of the term, Mr. Wickham," she said provocatively.

_"Au contraire, mon __cher[1]__," _replied he. "I am not one to pass up such a rich chance of causing trouble to those deserving it."

To this, Elliot heartily laughed, for she was convinced by Mr. Wickham's pleasant manners that he was simply teasing.

"Shall we make haste to the Hall? My first class begins at nine o'clock sharp and I wish to employ the rest of my time to fill my stomach," he declared.

"Only if you promise to leave enough empty space in there to fit the hefty portion of joint I will not finish tonight," she challenged.

"With pleasure."

* * *

Despite their best efforts, Wickham and Elliot barely arrived in class before the bell. In his haste over breakfast, Mr. Wickham had besmirched his breeches with a dollop of jam and insisted on returning to his quarters to change. Elliot, in turn, insisted on accompanying him to repay his kindness. She learned they were going to the same philosophy lecture and convinced him it would be no trouble at all for her to wait for him.

Unfortunately for them, once they arrived to the lecture, the only two vacant seats were at opposite ends of the room. With a final pat on Elliot's shoulder, Wickham gallantly walked to the one furthest from the door. Elliot would have been extremely pleased with this display of gentlemanlike manners had not her neighbour been the tall and disagreeable Mr. Darcy. He barely condescended to glance her way as she sat, and even then, it was with a sharp look of disapproval for her tardiness. She chose to ignore him which, she silently reminded herself, was what she always intended to do.

The professor, a certain Mr. Wiseman, was a pleasantly singular character. Upon explaining the readings to be covered by the end of the year, he promptly dismissed the class with the mandate to finish their first essay before Friday. No particular topic was imposed upon the students; the only restriction Elliot and her peers faced was a three-page quota.

Mr. Wickham quickly joined Elliot once Mr. Darcy left the lecture hall when the students were released.

"Would you be so inclined as to edit my assignment? I intend to work on it tonight. Of course, I would be pleased to return the gesture. My godfather intended me for the church, you see, and I dearly wish to... earn his respect."

Elliot was about to respond when Mr. Darcy suddenly returned. They watched in silence as he walked to Elliot and leaned forward to retrieve the book he had forgotten on the seat next to hers. He straightened and frowned in disapproval at Mr. Wickham before addressing Elliot. "If you do not object, I would prefer to be the one to read Mr. Wickham's assignment. He may still correct yours if you would consent to editing mine."

Elliot could see from the corner of her eye that Mr. Wickham was displeased. Indeed she could not fathom Mr. Darcy's insolence! It was not long, however, before Wickham regained his good humour and performed the introduction.

"Elliot, may I present you my... friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mr. Darcy, this is Elliot Bennet. He is a neighbour."

She bowed civilly, but Mr. Darcy was only so generous as to incline his head minimally in her direction.

"Well, I must take my leave now," Wickham finally declared after an awkward pause. "I will see you at the Hall tonight, Elliot."

Elliot was about to make her excuses as well, but Mr. Darcy's rather imposing voice preceded her.

"I will finish the assignment tomorrow during the day. I expect you to finish correcting it before tomorrow evening. You are welcome to visit my room anytime between five and six." Mr. Darcy was about to leave but stopped just before disappearing across the threshold. "You would not wish to judge Mr. Wickham's character too hastily," he offered without further explanation and promptly left the room.

_The only one I am eager to judge, sir, is yourself,_ Elliot thought, but did not express aloud. In any case, she was sure her annoyance was clear enough upon her visage that no further spoken reproof was required. The only consolation was that the man was clearly not discerning enough to associate Elliot with Elizabeth, which, if she were honest, was quite a relief.

In a fit of resentment, Elliot was envisioning the consternation Mr. Darcy would feel should she fail to appear at his doorstep as he had dictated. It was a possible evasion, she insisted, for the man had neglected to tell her where his room was, and if he supposed she could read minds, he would soon be bitterly disappointed. With this happy thought, Elliot managed to smile as she walked to her next lecture. Although she was half an hour early, she was quite content to employ the time reflecting on her Philosophy assignment.

Sadly, whatever semblance of gaiety Elliot felt was promptly erased when, well before ten, Mr. Darcy walked into the room. Their eyes met and held. Feeling increasingly frustrated, Elliot wondered if she could ever pass one day, or even an hour, without encountering the man. She greeted him with the barest civility and he in turn made some semblance of effort to acknowledge her. To her surprise, Mr. Darcy did not select the furthest possible seat from her. He settled, in fact, in the vacant place directly next to her and stared in her general direction for the next few moments. He appeared to be deep in thought.

Elliot quickly opened her manual and pretended to be deeply engrossed in it, barely daring to lift her head. She nearly jumped out of her chair when, unexpectedly, Mr. Darcy's voice resonated through the empty classroom.

"You remind me of someone," he began awkwardly, his gaze never straying from her face.

"Who?" Elliot asked. Her throat was constricted, her voice barely above a whisper. When he failed to answer her immediately, she began to feel excessively nervous. Surely he had not recognised her! To her relief, Mr. Darcy turned away in frustration a few seconds later.

"... Forget it. I am afraid it is not a particularly flattering comparison."

Elliot clenched her teeth at his insolence.

"No, forgive me. That was not what I meant..." but indeed Mr. Darcy did not think a young man would find it flattering to be told they looked like a tree-climbing girl. Vexed that he should have such difficulty expressing himself to strangers, Mr. Darcy instead elected to be silent.

Elliot, however, could not have known Mr. Darcy's innermost thoughts and thus chose to interpret his remark in the only way she could: Mr. Darcy did not find her character attractive and had no qualms about berating her to her face Biting her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stay calm and quiet, she decided to seriously apply herself to her book. Mr. Darcy, however, soon returned to staring at her and she found herself once more forced to think of him. The nerve of the man! If the only times he chose to speak were to disapprove of one thing or another, she would dearly wish he might remain mute for the next three years!

Unfortunately, such a highly improbable wish could hardly be granted. Elliot would have to be content with the knowledge that Mr. Darcy had no further intention to address her for the duration of the class.

* * *

The rest of the day passed quickly. At eleven, Mr. Darcy left Maths class without a glance in her direction. She waited until she was sure he would be far away from her immediate vicinity before taking her leave. She was then briefly introduced to her private tutor for the year. Since the term was newly begun, she had little to ask and likewise, he offered little help. Elliot then chose to pass by the library, collecting a few recent publications by Rousseau for her Philosophy essay and returned to her room.

Once inside, she promptly wrote a letter to her father, although she knew he was a poor correspondent. She had, however, promised to write every other day and was set on sending four letters on Sunday, every week hence.

To my dearest father,

I am exceedingly pleased to relate that school has started today, Wednesday, 10 October, 1804. Thus far, we have learnt very little. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to find Mr. Wiseman as my private tutor. He is the professor presiding in my philosophy class. I hope I am not wrong in assuming that he was the singular teacher you spoke of so often when I was but _a young boy_. At the earliest convenient occasion I will do as you recommended and ask him whether he still remembers you. I am sure your character cannot be so easily forgotten, even though I must insist on lamenting your infrequent correspondence. I know you enough, father, and I would be tempted to say that you would reply to my previous accusation with good-natured humour. After all, do you not always repeat that precious things are mostly in small compass?

The letter continued thusly for another half page before it concluded with a final parting word: "Hoping against hope to receive a reply before my graduation, your loving son, Elliot Bennet."

**TBC**

[1] Mon Cher: French for the masculine version of "my dear". Not to be confounded with its feminine version, Ma Chère.

* * *

**Next up:** Elliot is coerced into rooming with the disagreable Mr. Darcy! In the meanwhile, please do send me your comments below!


	3. A Frustrating Change (of Rooms)

I know I promised this chapter for Sunday... but my family randomly threw me a birthday party a day in advance so I could not find the time to upload. (You know you are starting to get a light case of memory loss when you forget your own birthday, despite not-so-subtle hints your family and friends have dropped you all week and despite having walked this earth for scarcely more than twenty years).

Again, countless words of gratitude to my two betas, Jim and Linda, for having done an insanely good job with this chapter in record time! Any subsequent mistake is mine alone.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Frustrating Change (of Rooms)**

Satisfied with her letter, Elliot began to concentrate on her assignment, hoping to conclude everything before dinner. She was so bent to her task that she did not feel the first pangs of hunger before four o'clock. As she was readying to leave for the dining Hall, she remembered her promise to meet with Mr. Wickham. She knocked at his door with every expectation of his answering, but after ten minutes of waiting, she could no longer deny her hunger and left without him.

Dinner was a rather mundane affair. After collecting her soup and tray, she made sure to remain aware of her surroundings and, this time, successfully kept the liquid within the bowl until she sat. A few of the students Mr. Wickham had dined with the previous evening waved her over, but as they had little to say to her apart from the usual civilities, she was content to relax and eat in relative silence. When the joint was served and Wickham was still nowhere in sight, she decided to simply take a small portion and risk being the laughing stock of his friends. By then, she knew they would suspect her to be of a frail constitution rather than assuming her to be of the opposite sex. Upon reflection, Elliot thought perhaps she had been too anxious on her first day to think logically. Nobody sensible would conjecture that a man was actually a woman just because he consumed less meat than other men.

As she stood to leave, she noticed Mr. Darcy walking toward the door from the far side of the room where he ate alone. Despite wanting to avoid the disagreeable man at all costs, Elliot was too strong-willed to sit down and wait for him to leave first. Instead, she strode purposefully out the room, hoping he would not her catch up.

She had greatly underestimated him. Mr. Darcy was long-legged, and she was, in comparison, rather petite (though she dearly hoped she would not remain so forever). She knew she had a brisk walking pace compared to other girls her age, but Mr. Darcy was a well-built man. Thus, it came as no surprise when he reached her just as she rounded the corner of the Hall. Determined not to walk with him, she slowed instead, hoping he would pass without a word, as he usually did.

She was sorely vexed when Mr. Darcy too, slowed his pace. She knew he was behind her by the sound of his footsteps, and she believed he purposely slowed his pace to taunt her. Frustrated beyond words at the day's events, Elliot decided to try walking rapidly to test him. Sure enough, Mr. Darcy's footsteps also hastened.

By then, Elliot was not only frustrated, but becoming increasingly anxious. _What is Mr. Darcy trying to accomplish by following me around?_ Was he meaning to frighten her by silently stalking her to her room? The man must be made known that her courage rose with every attempt to intimidate her!

Just as she reached her front door, she abruptly turned and sent him her most ferocious glare.

"And what do you think you are doing, sir?" she asked angrily, frustrated beyond any attempt at civility.

"Beg your pardon?" Mr. Darcy halted a few steps away. His face betrayed his surprise at being so suddenly addressed.

"You have been following me since the Hall. If you mean to intimidate me, sir, I pray you would desist for it is a futile attempt."

The man actually had the nerve to look amused. "Is this what you have assumed for the last five minutes?"

"What other reasons can there be? Pray enlighten me."

"For one, I could be lodging in this room," he said, pointing to Mr. Wickham's door.

Elliot raised a brow. "That dorm, I regret to inform you, is currently occupied by Mr. Wickham."

With a wry smile, Mr. Darcy pressed his key inside and opened the door. "And I regret to inform _you_ that I have the misfortune of sharing it with him." Without another glance, Mr. Darcy disappeared within.

* * *

It was only much later that Elliot calmed enough to risk knocking on Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy's door. Her fervent prayers were answered when the former appeared and grinned rather becomingly at her.

"Forgive me, Elliot, for missing our appointment earlier," he professed. "I had... another pressing issue. I hope I can compensate you, somehow."

"You certainly can," she answered playfully, already disposed to forgive him for his offense when compared to those that Mr. Darcy inflicted.

"I shall do whatever is in my power to do!" he said gallantly.

To Wickham's bewilderment, Elliot suddenly quieted. His young friend coloured all the way to his ears and stubbornly looked to the ground as he spoke. The lad's voice was so soft Wickham had to lean down to fully comprehend him.

"I am... you must understand I am still quite young..." she stammered. She had come to borrow something of an unseemly nature, and was at a loss as to how to go about it. She twisted the hem of her student gown, fidgeting nervously. "I am not... I have not..." she pursued valiantly, but could not find the courage to continue.

"Good God, what is the matter!" Wickham said impatiently.

"I am afraid... that I am too young to be comfortable bathing in company," she finally forced out, her blush spreading all the way to her neck. She dearly hoped Mr. Wickham would believe her when she said Elliot was discomfited employing the common showers only because of his young age! She certainly could not tell him the truth.

Wickham remained quiet for a few moments, before understanding finally dawned and he burst into laughter. He patronizingly patted her shoulders as he choked between fits of hilarity. "Do not worry, old sport! It will definitely grow to be a respectable size as you age! Nobody will make sport of you if it is small, I assure you!"

Elliot shook her head. She did not fully recognise from whence came Mr. Wickham's amusement, but her mortification was so great to be speaking of bathing at all, that she would not be bothered to ascertain to what he might be referring. "No… I do not wish to be seen!" she insisted. "Please, Mr. Wickham, you are the only one who can help me. Could you not lend me your basin for the night? I shall call a servant to fill it in my room. Surely, they will understand my dilemma!"

Unfortunately, Mr. Wickham had not laughed sufficiently at her expanse. He tried in vain to quiet his outbursts, only managing to regain some semblance of equanimity a few moments later. "Forgive me, Elliot, for my lack of self-control. I had not expected... well, you seemed like such a confident young man. I see now that everyone has weaknesses. Well, do not fret, I shall help you." Mr. Wickham disappeared inside the room and came out with not one, but two basins.

Still too embarrassed to think logically, Elliot vehemently thanked him, promising to return both items on the morrow and departed for the safe haven of her quarters. She made tedious progress, trying to bathe using only a towel, some soap, and three basins. By ten o'clock, however, her efforts were rewarded; she was fresh and clean again.

Later in the evening, as Mr. Darcy returned to his bed chamber and prepared to retire, he was all consternation to find one rather important element for his ablutions missing from his room. He cursed the lack of locks on bedroom doors[1], and once again lamented his fate. His father's wish for Wickham to remain in school was the only reason he refrained from throwing the fellow out of their lodgings.

* * *

By five o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday, Elliot was beginning to question the Lord's seemingly sarcastic sense of humour. It was not enough of a punishment to share both her philosophy and mathematics classes with Mr. Darcy on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Indeed, Mr. Darcy appeared determined to torment her in law class on Tuesday and Thursday morning, too. She had not a single class in the whole of the first term that did not include Mr. Darcy, whereas she only shared the philosophy lecture hour with Mr. Wickham.[2]

All of this she learned when she bumped into her more annoying neighbour the morning after the embarrassing bathing incident. She was returning the two basins to Mr. Wickham on his threshold when Mr. Darcy emerged from within his study and looked at them so disapprovingly she thought his eyes would burst from their sockets. When Mr. Wickham handed one of the basins to Mr. Darcy, her mortification was complete. As Mr. Wickham placed his own on a table in the common room, Elliot realised what had transpired. She could not help colouring to her cheeks, and she attempted a hasty retreat. Mr. Wickham halted her with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Would you like to walk with us to Chapel this morning, Elliot?" Mr. Wickham asked politely. "Perhaps we can break our fast together. Pray, what lectures do you sit today?"

Walking with Mr. Darcy to Chapel, even in the company of Mr. Wickham, was the last thing Elliot wanted. She could not find a suitable excuse to refuse the harmless invitation and thus was forced to accept. "I have an introductory course on law from nine to eleven," she answered.

To her consternation, Mr. Wickham made no reply. He sent a rather becoming smirk Mr. Darcy's way, which made that man's countenance even more forbidding. Mr. Darcy, ready for the morning service, locked the door behind them.

"Let us make haste then, Bennet" said he. "If you would but hurry, we can proceed to class together after breakfast. I must warn you, however, that I certainly will not wait for you if you tarry unnecessarily."

Biting her lips in frustration at his lack of manners and excessive self-importance, Elliot made no reply. The man's poor opinion of her punctuality had already been established with but one blunder on her part. Her tardiness yesterday was only attributable to her friendship with Mr. Wickham, who could not have known a drop of jam would sully his breeches! Indeed, there could be no greater punishment than to be constantly forced into the company of Mr. Darcy!

* * *

Despite her resentment, Elliot was not of an unreasonable character. She knocked upon Mr. Darcy's door at precisely 5 o'clock that afternoon to collect his written assignment and offer her own for Mr. Wickham. Unfortunately, her friend was nowhere to be found, and she was once again alone with her more disagreeable neighbour.

"Wickham has not returned since this morning," was Mr. Darcy's explanation. "I will offer to look through your assignment in his stead, if you wish. As for his contribution, I have never witnessed him labouring upon it yet."

"And have you kept a constant vigil upon his actions?" Elliot asked, irked at his pretension.

"I have not," Mr. Darcy replied, irritated. "In fact, I try to have as little to do with Mr. Wickham as possible." He directed a pointed look at Elliot, as if to convince him to do likewise.

"Perhaps you would not be half so cross with him if you would simply take the time to become better acquainted," Elliot suggested, but not without the intent to taunt.

"I am more acquainted with him than I would ever wish to be… but enough of that. I have no need for your help with _my_ assignment, but I will read yours. You are welcome to look in Mr. Wickham's room for his, should you miraculously find any." Mr. Darcy entered his study without another word.

Incensed at his attitude, Elliot dismissed the rules of propriety and took up his offer. She searched the surface of Mr. Wickham's desk, convinced her friend would not have neglected his work. Sure enough, three papers bound together lay there. A note addressed to her was written atop the assignment.

To Elliot,

I fear Mr. Darcy has been extremely busy and anxious lately. I felt it would be insensitive of me to add to his burdens with this assignment. I am currently out on some errands, but I was secure Mr. Darcy would let you in when you came to bring me your essay. If you still wish me to read it, pray leave it upon this desk. If I may be so bold, I would be grateful if you took mine and reviewed it. I will pass by your door later tonight.

Sincerely your friend,  
George Wickham

Elliot could not help felling touched by Mr. Wickham's consideration for his neighbour, even though Mr. Darcy was hardly deserving of it. She had not seen Mr. Wickham at dinner the day before, and was convinced he had been labouring hard upon his paper. She was not disappointed, but Mr. Darcy surely would be if he heard of it. Fortunately for Mr. Darcy, Elliot was not feeling particularly vindictive, and so was not inclined to wave the note under his nose.

Back in her study, she read Mr. Wickham's essay without any expectations. She was therefore pleasantly surprised by the quality of the work. Mr. Wickham cleverly commented upon Aristotelian ethics, affirming his belief that it is better to act for good rather than simply studying what is good. He provided contemporary examples of the benefit good works brought to society and even drew parallels to remarks of other great thinkers. The conclusion, however, was perplexing. The hand became slightly sloppy, the lines less confident. She decided to point it out to Mr. Wickham when he arrived to fetch it. It would not do for him to go slack on the final part of the essay when the rest was so cleverly done. The conclusion notwithstanding, Elliot had little else to correct and Mr. Wickham ascended even higher in her esteem.

Her first visitor of the night, to her surprise, was Mr. Darcy. Two hours after she had left Mr. Wickham's study, Mr. Darcy knocked on her door with her assignment. He had perused it carefully, he assured her, and written his comments upon a separate sheet. He then bowed and left her to her own devices without another word.

Elliot forced herself not to expect too much from Mr. Darcy. She was thus prepared to receive his criticism. Just as Elliot had foreseen, it was short and concise and did not offer much explanation.

You have a clear understanding of Rousseau, but a rather unbecoming feminine hand. The subject matter is tolerable at best. I would advise you to revise the entire essay, if you have the time, for every sentence displays a boasting attitude, which I am convinced the professor will frown upon.

_Boasting attitude? Tolerable subject matter?_ Elliot was incensed (although she could not defend her feminine penmanship). If only Mr. Darcy had given her some explanation, she could accept it all with more grace. She read through her paper again, but could not fathom from whence he found her "boasting attitude". She knew her criticism of Rousseau's view on the non-necessity of education for women could be seen as avant-garde, but her opinions were supported with sufficient proof. She was moderate in her arguments, only defending points she knew would be seconded by many current influential thinkers. But Mr. Darcy made it sound as if she were promoting something as controversial as a popular rebellion! Vexed beyond her patience, Elliot decided she would submit her assignment as it was, and promptly crumpled Mr. Darcy's note.

Mr. Wickham came before curfew to collect his essay, accepted her comments with good grace, and left for his room. Elliot submitted her assignment Friday morning, and spent her Saturday and Sunday at leisure, mainly in the College library or in the comfort of her room. She dared not walk around as Elizabeth, for the memory of falling from the tree in Mr. Darcy's presence was still fresh in her memory. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she could best avoid Mr. Darcy by staying as long as possible within the confines of her study.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Bennet, I ask you to remain here, please," said Professor Wiseman after dismissing the rest of the class the next Monday morning. Once the lecture room was emptied of all others the professor continued. "There are two pressing issues involving the three of you that I wish you would reflect upon. The first concerns you, Mr. Bennet."

Surprised, Elliot remained silent and stared.

"I find your subject matter rather unconventional. Very few students would dare to write on such a polemical topic."

Elliot wished to defend herself, for the professor had given them free choice of topic, after all. It would be dishonest of him to penalise her simply because he found her choice distasteful. She kept silent, however, and was rewarded with what the professor said next.

"I applaud your courage and the clever arguments you employed. What I cannot condone, however, was the arrogance in the construction of your sentences."

"Forgive me, but I do not understand," Elliot blurted. Arrogance? She could not reckon why, of any shortcomings, she would be accused of arrogance!

Professor Wiseman returned her assignment with an arched brow. "Pray, read me your essay, Mr. Bennet."

Confused and mortified, Elliot could only do as she was bid. She began to read haltingly:

"Durant les cinq dernières années, l'influence de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, philosophe contemporain, fut répandue au-delà des frontières de la France. Son ouvrage intitulé _Émile ou De l'Éducation_, très populairement célébré, promeut cependant un débat qui concerne..."

Professor Wiseman raised a hand to stop her from continuing. "That is enough, young man. I will not comment on your deplorable pronunciation—you have not had much practise, have you?—but I shall only be grateful your written French is better than your spoken accent. Do you understand _now_, Mr. Bennet? What in the world compelled you to hold forth in another language?"

"Sir, Jean-Jacques Rousseau's original works were published in his native tongue. I felt it appropriate to..." she began, but once again was interrupted.

"Tell me... are you perhaps the son of Mr. Thomas Bennet, who attended this very class five-and-twenty years ago?"

Elliot nodded, not unprepared for such a question. Her father was a poor correspondent, but he did keep some semblance of connection with his favourite University lecturers. His peculiar character and singular opinions had become somewhat infamous amongst the professors during his studies.

Mr. Wiseman guffawed merrily and shook his head in wonder. "I assume you have never had a proper education before this, Mr. Bennet. No private tutors and no boarding school?"

"None, sir," Elliot replied. "All my knowledge comes from my father's library. I hope this will excuse my poor pronunciation of the fashionable language."

"I can well understand why you wrote in French, in that case. Only a man like your father would delight in and encourage these impertinent habits. I still remember his first submission in my class, a rather unconventional commentary on Plato's _Allegory of the Cave_. His subsequently explained views on education were extraordinary at best, and his criticism of boarding schools exceedingly ruthless."

Elliot made no reply, but she smiled at this accurate description of her father.

"However," the Professor continued, "I will not permit an offense of this order in the future. You are fortunate I knew your father, for you would be harshly punished for such insolence by any other professor. I will overlook your blunder this once, young man, but I expect to see quality work submitted _in English_ from now on."

Elliot quickly assured him she would be more careful in the future. Mr. Darcy's warning now made much more sense, but she could not forgive that he felt it beneath him to explain himself to her. She was about to leave, but Professor Wiseman halted her.

"I am sure you have learned this lesson, Mr. Bennet. But you might wish to stay and hear Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy's offense, should you feel I have been soft on you."

The three students suddenly became very still.

"Unfortunately, there has been a case of plagiarism that concerns you, Mr. Wickham and you, Mr. Darcy," the professor declared. "Both of you have submitted largely similar essays, with only your conclusions differing. You also share similar penmanship, which makes it difficult to discern which of you is the perpetrator."

Mr. Wickham was the first to speak. "Mr. Darcy and I had the same tutors as boys, which explains our similar writing style. However, I assure you I am the first to have finished my assignment. Mr. Bennet here can attest to that!"

All heads turned her way, and Elliot suddenly felt exceedingly uncomfortable. "I cannot account for it, sir, since I have not read Mr. Darcy's work. I can only assure you that Mr. Wickham's was completed before five o'clock on Thursday last. Mr. Darcy did not allow me to read his, despite our previous agreement, and I did not insist," she declared truthfully.

"And what do you have to say in your defense, Mr. Darcy?" Professor Wiseman asked.

His pride caused Mr. Darcy to remain silent, his mien betraying his consternation at the turn of events. "I have no witness to make my defense, but I am confident time will reveal the truth in this case. If I were to stoop so low as to copy another's assignment, it could only be attributed foolishness on my part. I can, nevertheless, prove my innocence by consistently submitting superior work in the future. Whether Mr. Wickham can assure you of the same, I cannot vouch for."

Surprised and rather pleased by Mr. Darcy's self defense, Professor Wiseman declared any further punishment of the students would not be assigned until one of them was proved innocent. "However, in order to prevent further occurrences, I have arranged for a change of living arrangements to separate Mr. Darcy from Mr. Wickham. From now on, Mr. Wickham will live alone, and Mr. Darcy will share his lodgings with Mr. Bennet. Both of you have largely dissimilar penmanship, which will hopefully discourage the repetition of today's infraction."

The reactions in the room were vastly dissimilar. Mr. Wickham, to no one's surprise, was exceedingly delighted to be freed of Mr. Darcy's constant presence. His neighbour, however, could rejoice only very little at being saddled with the young and excessively impertinent Mr. Bennet.

Elliot, in light of the day's follies, could not decide whether she were more inclined to laugh or to cry.

**TBC**

[1] Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham are sharing a double set room. They share living rooms, but have separate studies and bedrooms. The latter two, however, cannot be locked in this story.  
[2] Freshmen used to share largely the same introductory classes on their first year, unless they had a specific orientation.

* * *

**Next up:** Wickham shows Elliot all the good stuff about University life. And by that, he means all those healthy _physical activities _men like to engage in.

What do you think will happen now that Elliot and Darcy are as good as locked in the same closet possibly for the next three years? Share your thoughts below!

* * *

**P.S.:** I had a question about whether it is possible for Elliot to even attend University at age 14. Most young men of her social standing were in boarding school. This is my historical interpretation:

According to multiple sources, University at the time was mostly meant for the upper class society to form connections. Graduating was extremely easy to achieve, once you were accepted into College. University wasn't meant to be a higher source of education, unless you were intended for the law, the clergy, or medicine. For gentlemen like Darcy and Elliot, who did not need to have a profession, attending school was for social experience (although both being studious, they totally used that opportunity to bury themselves in the College library and learn as much as they could). Thus it wasn't impossible for gentlemen to go to Cambridge at a younger age, it was just uncommon. Sometimes, these students stay four or five years before graduating. The youngest age permissible was 14 at the beginning of the 19th century, according to Joan Klingel Ray in _Jane Austen for Dummies._

We've learned in this chapter that Mr. Bennet has a bad opinion of boarding school. He wouldn't be the only one of his time to feel like this. So, instead, he preferred to educate Elliot with only the help of his library (like he did with Elizabeth in the original P&P). The real reason he sent Elliot to University, though, shall be revealed in later chapters. For now, all we can conclude is that Mr. Bennet himself was at Cambridge, loved the experience in comparison to boarding school, and had no objection to sending "a son" there.


	4. A Dangerous Venture (into Manly Grounds)

So I managed to settle into a good writing pace for this story. I was planning on updating with excruciatingly long chapters every 1.5 weeks or so, but it seems that life has decided I would instead upload every five days with shorter chapters. I hope that this arrangement is to everyone's benefit!

For those who were wondering, I don't plan on diverging too much form Jane Austen's work. I only want to explore all that was "not said" in P&P. For example, I will not kill Anne de Bourgh because she was still alive in P&P. However, nobody ever said anything about Collins NOT attending Cambridge, so I included him in this story. (I have 1/2 chances of getting it right, it's either Oxford or Cambridge after all!) The only difference, for the sake of making this story possible, is that I dimished the age gap between our favourite hero and heroine by 1 year. Elizabeth is 14 at the beginning of school (in 1804), whereas Darcy is 21. That means that by 1811, the beginning of the original P&P, Elizabeth will be 21 instead of 20.

Let us all give three cheers to the most wonderful people on this earth: betas! And in this story's case, to Linda and Jim! Hurray, hurray, hurray!

* * *

**Chapter 4: A Dangerous Venture (into Gentlemanly Activities)**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that all students attending Cambridge must be categorised as either "reading men" or "sporting men". Although she could not yet ascertain the true nature of Mr. Wickham —the man had a peculiar habit of disappearing and reappearing constantly— it did not take much time for Elliot to completely categorise Mr. Darcy as the physical incarnation of every stereotype ever conceived about the former. Every morning, he rose before the sun and read in their common room until Chapel services at seven. When he was prepared to leave he fully expected Elliot to follow, without ever addressing her unless absolutely necessary. He would break his fast at eight, and assiduously listen to lectures from nine until eleven, never neglecting to purse his lips and stare at her musingly in between each class. In the afternoon, he diligently visited his private tutor, locked himself in the College library or his study, and never missed curfew at ten o'clock. He seldom wandered beyond the school grounds, unless it was for a walk during his leisure time, and he otherwise participated in very little else. Within two days of rooming with him, Elliot knew him to be a private man who took little pleasure in the company of strangers.

Her roommate's daily habits would not have mattered a farthing had Elliot not been a "reading man" herself. She shared not only her classes with Mr. Darcy, but some of their habits and routines were also similar, thus rendering Mr. Darcy's constant and silent presence maddening. Ever since their room change, Elliot's quotidian routine consisted of enduring his society from sunrise to sunset, usually without having addressed more than ten words to the man, all of which were civilities not easily avoided. She suspected her constant presence and "unflattering character" —as he so kindly informed her— produced such consternation in the man that he could scarcely tolerate it. As for her own silence and unsociable tendencies, these she could only attribute to her wounded pride and desire to guard her true identity.

Elliot could now safely declare that the new living arrangement was as disastrously unpleasant for him as it was for her. The tragic Wednesday of their second week at school started thusly:

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," said Elliot upon opening her bedroom door and seeing her roommate do likewise at precisely the same moment. The lady in Elliot, despite seeing Mr. Darcy completely dressed, could not help the embarrassment of greeting him in front of his chambers. She knew she must act like a man, for her own sake if not for that of her father, but the lady in her could not avoid looking at the floor.

"Good morning," her neighbour replied coldly. Mr. Darcy sat with a book in one of the two chairs in the common room and proceeded to ignore her and his surroundings.

For lack of anything better to do and, if she were honest, to torment Mr. Darcy, Elliot also picked up a book and occupied the chair in front of Mr. Darcy. Rather than reading, however, she mimicked his actions in their Mathematics lecture of the week prior and derived great amusement in staring at him fixedly. Although Mr. Darcy showed no particular sign of being unduly affected by her actions, Elliot persisted. She knew she had succeeded in discomforting him when, a quarter of an hour later, Mr. Darcy had failed to turn a single page. It was all she could do not to laugh aloud. Elliot briefly contemplated telling him that he reminded her of someone, but unfortunately could not quite compare Mr. Darcy to anyone she knew in Hertfordshire, thus sparing him further suffering. Her neighbour was, alas, too stubborn to gratify her with a reaction and laboured to maintain his pretence of reading. Elliot decided such an opportunity of observing and unnerving him might not come her way very often in the future, for she was sure Mr. Darcy would have learned his lesson and would employ even more effort to avoid her society in the future. She thus took advantage of the situation as best as she could and focused on the illustration his character.

She began with contemplating his face. If Elliot were not so strongly biased against him, and if Mr. Darcy's mien were not half so forbidding, she might have deemed him quite handsome. Her perusal continued lower. His cravat, to her surprise, was not as neatly finished as the rest of his person and seemed the work of inexperienced hands. Mr. Darcy looked and acted the rich gentleman; why did he not bring a valet with him as did most men of his class? She was equally surprised that Mr. Darcy, usually so observant, had not asked her the same question. She could definitely not tell him that her father and her sister Jane were the only ones aware of her being in Cambridge. They both wished to hide this intelligence from as many people as possible. Her father was particularly wary of any servant learning of her illicit adventures.

As she continued even lower in her examination of the man, she noticed he always wore his black student cap and gown, which contrasted greatly with Mr. Wickham's usual preference for white[1]. Mr. Darcy had a very symmetrical form and confident posture. His gait, combined with his distinctly sleeved gown[2], expressed his wealth and position in society. Elliot continued her analysis of his person without being able to truly make it out until, shortly before seven, Mr. Darcy stood abruptly to depart for the morning service. His bearing was rigid, his manner proud, and his stubborn nature compelled him to act as if he had spent a fruitful morning when in fact he had not read a word beyond the first page of his book.

Although neither wished to attend matins together, both were too well-bred to dismiss civilities and too stubborn to change their routine for the sake of avoiding the other. They were forced into each other's company but, after what had transpired in their room, neither made more effort than necessary to acknowledge the other during their walk. Propriety dictated Elliot should not purposefully avoid sitting with Mr. Darcy, and when minutes before the service began Mr. Wickham was nowhere to be seen, her last hope of making her excuses was deflected. Needless to say, it was one of the most tedious services she had ever endured.

After breaking her fast in the Hall, Elliot found herself once more beside Mr. Darcy in Philosophy and Mathematics. Midway during the lecture, Elliot accidentally spilt a few drops of ink on the desk, which nearly caused her fastidious neighbour's brows to collide into a frown. He quickly lent a handkerchief in an effort to limit the inevitable staining that was to ensue and, despite their strained relationship, she felt it necessary to whisper "thank you".

Fortunately, they saw no more of each other during the afternoon and had a few hours of freedom to lament and bemoan their morning. That night, Mr. Darcy indeed proved he was a quick study when he announced that he wished to write to his family and hastily retreated to his study thus giving Elliot no chance of teasing him again. Before retiring, Elliot felt it proper to bid him "Good night, Mr. Darcy," to which the gentleman answered in kind. As she lay in bed, Elliot counted to find she had indeed pronounced no more than ten words to him for the entire day.

Perhaps tomorrow, she would feel spirited enough to challenge herself by articulating less than seven.

* * *

Mr. Wickham reappeared the following morning, and felt it necessary to make his presence known by pounding relentlessly at their door at six o'clock. Although both his neighbours were awake, neither had yet summoned sufficient courage to endure the other's silence for the day. Mr. Wickham, however, had a purpose, and once he had one, held no qualms about employing every means possible to achieve his goal. In order to preserve the morning's peace, Elliot and Darcy were once again forced into the other's company as they answered the door.

"Rise and shine, Elliot, Darcy!" cried he with a wide smile. He quickly placed his foot in the doorframe to prevent Mr. Darcy from shutting the door. His movement was so fluid, Elliot was convinced he had numerous occasions of practicing in the past.

"Is there anything you require so early in the morning, Wickham?" Mr. Darcy inquired, barely repressing an exasperated sigh.

"Why, it is past the second week of school, is it not? Do you not know what that means?" Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Wickham continued enthusiastically. "All of the University's gentlemen sporting clubs are now open! Why, you must know I am meaning to spend my day trying out each and every one of them!"

"That is fortunate for you indeed," Mr. Darcy answered, attempting without subtlety to close the door.

"You must know I have every intention of taking Elliot along with me! The lad's small and lanky, and would immensely benefit from physical exercise, I assure you!" To Elliot he winked and said, "You must trust me in this, Elliot, for no one enjoys sports as I do! If you continue in my footsteps, soon you will feel no more shame in venturing into the common baths!"

Mr. Wickham could not miss Elliot's reddening cheeks at the mention of bathing and Mr. Darcy's blanching face at what he insinuated. Their opposite reactions, combined with the remembrance of the previous week's hilarity caused Wickham to once again lose himself to laughter. "Come, you must not be so pernickety, Darcy," Wickham finally said in between deep breaths. "You perfectly understand that I lent Elliot our basins out of generosity. Elliot is _quite small, _you see, and did not feel it agreeable for others to know."

"That is enough, Wickham!" Darcy bellowed, to Elliot's surprise. The man, as mean-spirited as she thought him, had never before raised his voice in her hearing. His deep baritone resonated across the hallway, his confidence very much like one already the master of an estate.

Although not understanding their subject, Elliot felt Mr. Wickham had gone too far in his teasing. "I am not _very _small, Mr. Wickham," she protested. "I am certain I will grow to a respectable height in time."

To this, Mr. Wickham could only sink once more into guffaws. "Elliot, we are not talking about your _height, _but your _length_. Do not tell me... have you not had many older gentlemen friends as you grew up?"

Elliot wanted to answer in the negative, but Mr. Darcy once again demanded Mr. Wickham to desist. This time, Mr. Wickham relented after extracting a promise from Elliot to reserve his afternoon for visiting gentlemen's clubs.

Mr. Darcy let go an obviously painful sigh after shutting the door. To Elliot's chagrin, however, Mr. Darcy declared he would join them on their afternoon adventure to keep an eye on Wickham. "You should not let him abuse you so, Bennet," Mr. Darcy admonished.

"I believe he was only teasing," she replied earnestly.

"Your young age makes you naive. You should not profess something without understanding it."

Well! She was certainly under no obligation to require Mr. Darcy's protection! She was surviving her foray into gentlemanly quarters so far very well, she thought. She was not about to confess her affront, and thankfully, Mr. Darcy filled the silence first.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you aware of the kind of gentlemanly clubs Mr. Wickham frequents?" he asked, but in a tone sounding as if he was certain of Elliot's answer.

"I know Trinity has a renowned Mathematics society, as well as a reputable chess club..." she answered, and she would have been secure of her words and of Mr. Wickham's integrity had not the plagiarism incident occurred. Her preference for the more amiable of the two men encouraged her to suspect Mr. Darcy, but her sense prevented her from casting a hasty judgement, particularly as Mr. Wickham's conclusions had been lacking. Both men she was convinced, however, were exceedingly accomplished at puzzling her.

"Yes, you are quite right. But Trinity College's most favoured societies by sporting men, in other words, those that Mr. Wickham frequents, are the fencing, boating, tandem racing, and bridge table clubs." Fortunately for Elliot's delicate ears, Mr. Darcy refrained from mentioning Wickham's preference for boxing and for the covert association of students given to gambling and drinking.

Even without the censored precision, the very idea of cavorting amongst young men was enough to drain every drop of colour from Elliot's face.

* * *

As promised, Mr. Wickham cornered Elliot just as she was dismissed by her private tutor. She asked to be allowed, at least, to change into adequate clothing for outdoor activities. This request was readily granted, if she promised to be quick, for he did not wish to tarry about. Elliot encountered Mr. Darcy already in his sporting clothes in their sitting room, awaiting her return. He cast a sceptical glance her way once she had changed, as if wondering whether Elliot could shoulder any vigorous activity at all. For once, she could not blame him for harbouring doubts. Elizabeth was a healthy girl and an excellent walker, but dressed in the clothes of the opposite sex, Elliot looked nothing short of a scrawny schoolboy. Despite her appearance, she squared her shoulders with dignity and stood as tall as she could in retaliation to Mr. Darcy's obvious reservations. She knew, however, that her pretence did not fool him; she did not feel half so confident as she looked, and he seemed acutely aware of it.

To her immense surprise, her usually forbidding roommate gave her an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder and sent the hint of a smirk her way as they met Mr. Wickham outside. She thought Mr. Darcy would be exceedingly unsociable and disdainful of sporting, a trait shared by his fellow reading men, but his countenance seemed to light up at the prospect of strenuous exercise. Feeling colour rise to her cheeks at this unexpected display of camaraderie and animation, Elliot instead directed her gaze to the ground and prayed she would survive this afternoon's activities.

Their first destination, a rather prominent structure with a sign reading _Sinclair's board_, was revealed to be the area's most famous fencing club. Mr. Wickham was, unsurprisingly, the first to eagerly sign his name in the registry. His confident pace and his friendly wave to the registrar betrayed his familiarity with the place. Mr. Wickham presented both Elliot and Mr. Darcy to the man, as per custom, and enthusiastically expressed his wish to have them both join the club. Mr. Darcy, to Elliot's consternation, did not hesitate to offer his own candidacy and paid the required fees without falter. When she assured Mr. Wickham she only wished to watch, he would have none of it and threatened to pay for her should she refuse on financial grounds.

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Mr. Darcy retorted angrily as he approached Wickham. He drew himself up to his full height in a posture that could only be described as menacing to any lesser man. "Need I remind you of your current situation, Wickham? Do not pretend to be beyond your means," he threatened as he pulled Mr. Wickham away. Although Mr. Darcy lowered his voice, it was not soft enough for Elliot to miss.

Mr. Wickham was understandably silent, his jaw clenching in anger.

Elliot was faring scarcely better. To be thus insulted in front of a friend and a servant! Could Mr. Darcy's arrogance have no limit? So vexed was she by his actions that she refused him entirely out of spite when he offered to cover her charges in Mr. Wickham's stead.

Since she had no wish of joining them in their activities, she resolutely stood aside as both men prepared with their respective instructors. Elizabeth, for any other name would not have been appropriate here, had never seen the sport practised from such a close distance; all of her knowledge came from the lengthy but passive descriptions found in her father's books. She was convinced, however, that all the literature in the world could not have prepared her sufficiently for the reality of fencing. Despite the vivacity of the sport and its somewhat violent undertone, Elizabeth could not resist feeling fascinated. She had been a mere girl only a fortnight ago, and would have, without a doubt, been barred from entry. Even when she prepared to attend Cambridge as Elliot, she had not anticipated doing anything beyond sitting the required lectures, perhaps making a friend or two, and mostly keeping to her room. She could scarcely believe she was here, inside _Sinclair's board, _without inviting any unwanted attention to her person. The metallic trill of blades clashing resounded but a few feet from her, enticing her heart to beat ever faster and her eyes to observe and absorb all that was offered to them.

Mr. Wickham was foremost in her thoughts. He parried well, even to her untrained eyes. His movements were quick and rash as he daringly thrust his foil at his instructor. Mr. Darcy's posture, by comparison, was guarded but solid; his motions were fluid and menacingly beautiful. Elliot could scarcely regulate her breathing, overwhelmed by her surroundings, by her two masculine neighbours, and by this unlooked-for opportunity to _experience_ all that had been previously unknowable and unattainable even in her wildest dreams.

Elliot finally let go her breath, barely even aware she had been holding it, once a short break was announced by the instructors. As both men walked to her, their appearance dishevelled, bodies thoroughly glowing from perspiration, and their satisfaction evident, she became suddenly and acutely aware of the indecency of the situation. Despite appearances, she was a maiden of almost fifteen, and she knew her presence was worthy of the highest reproach. She lowered her eyes as her face warmed, and she could not find the strength to lift them even as Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy returned.

"Well, old chap, I daresay I have never found this floor to be as fascinating as all that, but _you_ seem quite determined to find pleasure in all the most unconventional places!" Mr. Wickham exclaimed as he swung his arm around Elliot's shoulders and pulled her close.

She barely managed to repress a discomfited squeal as she attempted to push him away. "Sir!" she protested, but the other was stronger and valiantly resisted her attempts of disengaging herself.

"Why, Elliot, you must know that no men entering these grounds are expected to leave without sweating a great deal! If you will not join us, I will make sure you are covered enough in perspiration that is not your own!" he declared, pulling her even closer.

Elliot could not have been any more mortified had she fallen twenty more times in Mr. Darcy's presence. She had her hands upon Mr. Wickham's chest and her face buried on the side of his neck, which, for the occasion, was not covered with the customary cravat. Although she had wished for none of this and desperately struggled to be freed, her strength was nothing compared to his. Mr. Wickham was laughing at her expense, but had he known who she really was, he probably would not have found the situation half as hilarious.

In the end, it was Mr. Darcy who came to her rescue. He firmly pushed Mr. Wickham away, glaring disapprovingly, and berating him for his brutish actions. "Bennet is only fourteen, and has never fenced before. Leave him, Wickham," he commanded.

"Ah, Darcy, always so upright and chivalrous," mocked Wickham as he released Elliot and stepped back.

Elliot wasted no time in deflecting their attention elsewhere. She suggested they spar against each other, hoping that in doing so, they would leave her to blush and reprimand herself privately. Mr. Darcy gladly accepted the offer and Mr. Wickham followed, but at a somewhat reluctant pace. Despite her mortification, Elliot still remembered Mr. Darcy's outburst in front of the registrar and hoped Mr. Wickham would take the chance to reclaim his dignity.

She could not have been more wrong. Mr. Darcy was by far the superior swordsman, his guarded but confident poise earning him an advantage over Mr. Wickham's bolder moves. Although both steadily accumulated red points to their clothing, it was ultimately Mr. Darcy who emerged the victor.

Shocked and not a little apprehensive, Elliot once again realized her assessment of their character was rudimentary at best. Both men were an enigma, overthrowing any secure knowledge she had of them at every turn. But an hour ago she thought Mr. Darcy a complete reading man, yet he possessed the skill and aplomb of every self-acclaimed sporting man. Mr. Wickham's conduct she could not have censured — he knew not his new friend was a girl — but her first impressions were in turmoil after the plagiarism incident that had inexorably encouraged the first signs of doubt, and she found his displays of bonhomie unsettling.

Elliot had been shaken into silence. Once both men returned from changing their clothes, she abruptly became aware that Mr. Darcy stood closer to her than previously while Mr. Wickham led the way to their next destination.

**TBC**

* * *

[1] Sporting men were characterized with wearing white gowns, reading men with black (although this is perhaps more a stereotype than an absolute reality).  
[2] Students of different social class could be distinguished by their gowns. Noblemen usually had colours such as gold added to their school clothes. Wealthy "gentlemen commoners" had sleeves on their gowns, whereas mere "commoners", those that could not pay the total cost of their tuition and had to work to compensate, wore gowns without sleeves. Elliot's family, although not as wealthy as Darcy's, could pay for her tuition and a sleeved gown.

* * *

**Next Up: **Another beloved character from P&P appears! Cookies to those who can guess correctly the name of the student! (Hint: He's in his third year, is the popular captain of the boating team, and is thinking of purchasing a commission!) Comment your thoughts below!


	5. A Challenging Competition (On the Cam)

I was really hoping for more people to guess Bingley, but it seems I have underestimated you, dearest, loveliest readers. Vitual cookies to paucajtro, LucyKatie, Bet(?), AnnieD55, Guest, Dkoh75, Alex M, Nwill2004, KitKat2332, Love it (Bingley's coming later), and Renaissancebooklover108 for guessing correctly!

As for my previous A/N, someone asked if there will be no romance between E&D in this story, and whether there will be a time skip to 1811. When I said that I wanted to stick as much as possible to the original P&P, I meant I wanted to follow Jane Austen's characterization, keep close to the historical customs of the time, and keep secondary characters IC. However, I understand the original plotline cannot possibly be the end of this story, since D&E will fall in love way before 1811, and Elizabeth will discover Wickham's true character. The romance, in fact, starts very soon!

And without further ado, let us have some more manly physical activities!

* * *

**Chapter 5: A Challenging Competition (on the Cam)**

The distance separating the Cam and _Sinclair's Board _could easily be traveled on foot and Elizabeth strode out, attired in Elliot's comfortable sporting clothes, enjoying the chance of partaking in her favourite exercise. On an afternoon such as this, the rowdy cacophony of rowing men in four-oars and canoes labouring to _get forward_ intermingled with the thunderous, but intoxicated laughter of Cambridge undergraduates indulging in a water party on the bank. Elliot and her two neighbours had not traveled far before encountering the familiar sight of broad shoulders, bulging muscles and dampened shirts of the famous boating men lining the river. The occasional majestic six-oar navigated downstream, proudly announcing the school for which it battled with a raised flag. Unsurprisingly, a panoply of Trinity boats and canoes competed ferociously against those of its neighbour and fierce rival, St. John's College, for the laurels of the most accomplished rowing men.

As they were walking toward the Cam, Mr. Wickham, with great animation, contributed to Elliot's sporting knowledge with a detailed account of the legendary accomplishments of Cambridge boatmen. Allegedly, the most picturesque phase of a young man's life was, without a doubt, the glorious time he spent acquiring blisters upon his hands while bravely battling the winds and stroking his racing-oars. Very little could compare to the sensation of heaving chests, sweating palms, and drenched shirts of a rowing crew at the victorious end of a challenging race.

"But what about the knowledge a student acquires during his stay in Cambridge?" Elliot questioned with a lifted brow. "Does that not count as the better part of his achievements?"

"Perhaps it does, but what will that be in ten, twenty years? Other than enumerating his awards, precious little else can be said about a studious undergraduate. The glory of becoming the foremost rowing man of Trinity, on the other hand, will be remembered by future generations. He will be adored as a leader amongst men: the ambition of all sportsmen. His name will not be spoken of unless with reverence, his accomplishments will be set forth as the model for all to follow. Part of the money his peers wager upon him during a race will naturally be given to him for his efforts, and, for three years, he will bask in praise and profit."

"But wherein lies the merit of all that?" cried Elliot. "Knowledge, for one, can be continually improved and passed down to future generations. It can bring about changes for the better in society, and improve the lives of so many! Glory and fame in sporting are, alas, ephemeral and one sporting hero is quickly supplanted by the next."

To this, Mr. Wickham could only shrug, dismissing Elliot's assessment as irrelevant due to his youth. Irked at being treated as a child, Elliot could only search for another subject of conversation. She did not need labour long for, as they approached the river, a few of Mr. Wickham's friends waved him over, thus breaking their party for the first time that afternoon. Mr. Wickham had many friends and consequently, she was not displeased to be left alone. In fact, Elliot anticipated Mr. Wickham would encounter and be distracted by his sporting friends, leaving her free from the rest of the activities. What she had _not_ expected, however, was to see a very stout and spirited student walking vigorously in her direction. His attire clearly indicated he was from the neighbouring St. John's College, but his face held no familiarity. She was still hopelessly trying to remember if they were acquainted when he stopped directly in front of her and paused for breath.

"Darcy, old man! I thought you were decaying inside Trinity's library, and feared you would never breathe the air of the outdoors again!" the man declared in jest.

Of course. She had forgotten about her silent companion. (The fact that Mr. Darcy had friends outside Trinity —or rather, the fact he had friends _at all_— was considerably shocking. She had half a mind to mark it as the most extraordinary discovery of the week!).

Mr. Darcy walked calmly to the other student before addressing him with his usual seriousness. "Fitzwilliam," he acknowledged.

The boating man, although not excessively handsome and not as dark as her roommate, had an agreeable manner and an engaging aspect. "Whom do we have here?" he asked, smiling curiously at Elliot.

"This is Elliot Bennet, my current roommate," Mr. Darcy provided. "Bennet, this is Richard Fitzwilliam of St. John's College."

"How do you do?" the Johnian[1] inquired gaily.

"I am surviving my day so far, I thank you," Elliot replied with a teasing arch of her brow. She was about to tell him of the trials she was prepared to face, but was forestalled by Mr. Fitzwilliam's outrage.

"_Surviving_ your day? Good God! Should it not be the opposite? Our fellow undergraduates _survive_ the monotony of everyday life in anticipation of the beginning of sporting!" he cried, incredulous, and quite intrigued by Elliot Bennet. To Mr. Darcy, however, he asked, "Were you not rooming with Wickham?"

Her classmate suddenly became more grave. "I do not wish to speak of that," he declared with finality.

Well, if _that _was not highly suspicious, she knew not what was. What reasons had he to prefer to keep quiet, if he were not the culprit of the plagiarism that brought about their change of rooms? Had Mr. Wickham copied his assignment, Mr. Darcy should have been the first to defend himself in front of his friend! Elliot contemplated the idea of challenging him on this matter, but Mr. Fitzwilliam abruptly changed the subject.

"Well, good riddance! It is in your fortune, then, that Bennet here seems a much more pleasant fellow," the boating man declared.

To this, Mr. Darcy could not reply for Mr. Wickham reappeared at their side. "Elliot," he began, "your inexperience in the general field of sports leads me to believe you also do not know how to row a boat. I should be very pleased to teach you!" Her neighbour then eagerly urged Elliot away from the other two men, as if not wishing to spend his day in their society.

"Wait!" Mr. Fitzwilliam cried, forcing Mr. Wickham to halt in his retreat. "As captain of St. John's boating club by popular decree, I feel I am the best equipped to teach Bennet to row." To Elliot, he declared proudly that his name was known across colleges and he was a popular topic of gossip amongst the local women. His pretension was softened with a playful grin, and despite the impropriety of his allegations, Elliot could not find the fortitude to censure his lack of modesty.

To such a strong argument, Mr. Wickham could do naught but acquiesce, if unwillingly. With a slight inclination to Mr. Fitzwilliam, he bade to be excused to pursue the rest of the preferred activities on his own. He cast a disappointed look to Elliot, as if to admonish him for choosing Darcy and Fitzwilliam's society over his own.

"I cannot help but wonder what happened between Mr. Wickham and yourself to cause such a rift in your relationship," Elliot inquired boldly of Mr. Darcy once Mr. Wickham had disappeared. "Ever since my arrival, Mr. Wickham has shown me every civility and has helped me adapt to University life."

"Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his _making _friends—whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them, is less certain," Mr. Darcy answered.

"We have known him since childhood, Bennet, and you would do well to trust our judgement of his character," Fitzwilliam added with a smile.

To this, Elliot could make no reply, perplexed as she was about their characterization of her friend. She could not apprehend Mr. Wickham as someone so very bad, for his manners were pleasant above those of Mr. Darcy.

"Well then," Mr. Fitzwilliam said, once the topic of Mr. Wickham's integrity was expired, "…let the lesson begin!" He eagerly guided Elliot away from land and into the small pair-oars he owned. "Are you coming, Darcy?" he asked.

Mr. Darcy nodded his approval and followed to the edge of the river without a word.

Mr. Fitzwilliam expertly hopped onboard after having untied his vessel, and seemed perfectly at ease despite the terrible rocking caused by his landing. Having never set foot in a canoe before, Elliot hesitated. She had learned to swim as a child, but could not, at present, risk falling into the river in front of others. Her reluctance was quickly perceived by Mr. Fitzwilliam, who gallantly stood and offered his hand.

"May I?" he asked with a mocking bow and a humorous glint in his eyes.

Elliot's first reaction to such an offer would have been to fear being found out, had she not understood the jest behind the other's gesture. Instead, she forced herself to keep calm and feign offence. "This is not to be borne!" she exclaimed with exaggerated outrage and a teasing smile. "To be treated as a lady when my only offence is to have kept away from boats for the fourteen years of my life!"

Mr. Fitzwilliam was genuinely shocked. "Fourteen? But you are still a boy at such an age!"

"I believe that is why Mr. Wickham insists on using my first name," she provided good-humouredly. "However, I am turning fifteen on the 25th of October, in exactly one week."

"Well, that modifies quite a few things," Mr. Fitzwilliam declared. When he retracted his hand, Elliot thought she had won the argument. She was therefore unprepared when the boating man stepped out of his vessel and unceremoniously lifted her from the waist. She covered her lips with both palms to keep from crying out. He carried her across his shoulders to the pair-oars, as he would a piece of log. The boat swayed from side to side when he dropped her upon the wooden seat, causing her to frantically grab hold of the bench beneath her. Once satisfied of his work, Mr. Fitzwilliam sat in front of her with a smirk. "_This _is what you get for being so frail, young man!" he exclaimed with humour. To Mr. Darcy, he said, "Remember last summer? Georgiana would cry every time I tried this with her!"

Had Elliot not known how to swim, she was secure she would not have such an easy time repressing her own tears! Despite the man's confidence, she acutely felt the brief interval every competent mariner experienced between stepping into their vessel and adjusting to the wobbly equilibrium of the water. For the second time that day, her heart accelerated to a previously unattained rate and her face heated at being handled thusly by someone of the opposite sex.

"Heavens, I have succeeded in rendering poor Bennet mute!" Fitzwilliam exclaimed in consternation.

"That is an accomplishment _indeed_," Mr. Darcy said, but Elliot could not ascertain if it was pronounced seriously or in jest. She dared not lift her face and desperately hoped for curfew to arrive faster!

"Come, you must not be cross with me," Mr. Fitzwilliam said apologetically. "I have overstepped my boundaries, and I ask for your forgiveness. You must understand, Bennet, I am the oldest amongst my cousins, and I have developed a habit of sporting with them."

Elliot took a deep breath, and once she felt restored, could not resist laughing at the follies of the day. "It is all forgiven and forgotten, Mr. Fitzwilliam. But please, I request that you never take such a liberty with me again!"

Relieved at her good humour, the Johnian found the spirit to tease once more. "Only if you permit me to address you by your first name, for you remind me of someone I know, a young cousin actually, that I think of fondly," he declared with a wide smile.

_She reminded him of someone he knew?_ That was a sentence she had heard before! "Pardon me for asking, but what is your relation with Mr. Darcy?" she asked instead, suddenly noticing the familiarity of his surname and a quality in his manner of speech.

"We are cousins. Did we fail to mention it? But may I inquire why you only _now_ ask such a question?"

She admitted she remembered Mr. Wickham presenting his cousin as _Fitzwilliam_ Darcy. "However, I only took notice of it when you mentioned I _reminded you of someone_. Mr. Darcy professed the same on our first day of class." She could now safely declare she had not been wrong after all. Mr. Darcy did _not _have any friends in St. John's, only family connections!

"And may I inquire to whom he compared you?"

"Indeed you may, but in my answering, such things may come out, as will shock you exceedingly."

"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Mr. Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."

Instead of answering immediately, however, Elliot directed a challenging glance to Mr. Darcy, who was still standing erect on land and observing them with a look of curiosity. "You see, sir, I am not so easily intimidated by your assessment of my worth."

"And I have had the opportunity of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in professing opinions which in fact are not your own," returned Mr. Darcy.

To her boating partner, Elliot exclaimed: "You see, Mr. Fitzwilliam, your cousin will soon teach you not to believe a word I say!"

The addressed found great amusement in witnessing the exchange between his usually taciturn cousin and his new roommate. "But you have not answered my question. What offences has Darcy committed in your society?" he asked impatiently.

"You shall hear then—but prepare yourself for something very dreadful," she began, sending a saucy look Mr. Darcy's way.

"I am not afraid of you," he countered smilingly.

Elliot decided it was time to relieve her new acquaintance's suspense. "The first time I met Mr. Darcy was in the dining Hall," she began to Mr. Fitzwilliam, "where he unceremoniously collided into me, causing me to spill half my soup. But the truly capital offence begins now: Mr. Darcy scarcely condescended to acknowledge me; he instead stood to his full height and glared at me as if_ I_ had been the one in the wrong!"

"He did not!" cried Mr. Fitzwilliam, scarcely able to suppress his mirth. "But I can well believe it of him; it is unfortunate!"

"The afternoon had been a difficult one," Mr. Darcy explained, as he stepped into the second canoe, next to their pair-oars.

"My carriage ride had been equally exhausting, Mr. Darcy," she reminded him. "In fact, I traveled all the way from Hertfordshire to Cambridgeshire with my father, but _I_ had been prepared to apologize."

Mr. Darcy inclined his head, conceding the point but not yet defeated. "I fear I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers," he attempted once more.

"Shall we ask your cousin the reason for this?" she inquired, addressing Mr. Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of his status is ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have not seen before," replied Mr. Darcy. "I cannot instantly understand their mood, or appear interested in their concerns, as I have often seen done."

"And what of practising? Have you done a great deal of that?" she attacked again, quite determined to win the argument. "I do not speak French so well as other gentlemen do. My poor pronunciation and strong English accent do not produce the same sort of satisfaction in those that listen to me. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe _my _tongue as capable as any other's of superior eloquence."

Mr. Darcy began to row forth, smiling as he passed them at a leisurely pace. "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of reading your essays, can think any thing wanting in your linguistic prowess. We neither of us perform to strangers."

Elliot bit her lips. Mr. Darcy had already rowed ahead, and anyone listening to their conversation knew he had uttered the last word. The nerve of the man! His intelligence she could not reprove, but his arrogance was unrivalled! She had thought herself to be confident for her age, but Mr. Darcy, at this point, was practically beyond salvation! She could now understand why the man always preferred to sit alone. No sane person spending more than an hour in his company would again wish to seek his society!

She was abruptly brought back from her furious censure of his character when Mr. Fitzwilliam leaned dangerously close. He had watched them banter with a glint of amusement in his eyes, and a smile of wonder upon his countenance. "Well, I daresay you shall be able to keep my cousin on his feet for the next three years with that wit of yours! Darcy has finally met his match in verbal sparring. However, if you truly wish to impress him, let us challenge him to a race on the Cam, shall we?" Without asking for permission, and scarcely needing it if one takes into account his assumption of Elliot's gender, Mr. Fitzwilliam sat impoliticly close to his companion and forcibly thrust the oar into her hands.

Panicked, Elliot attempted to refuse. "I do not know how to row, sir!" cried she, attempting to shift away.

"Did I not promise Wickham I would teach you? And finer tutelage you shall not find within fifty miles of Cambridge!" he announced proudly. He, contrary to Mr. Wickham, perceived Elliot's discomfort and, assuming his new friend was equally as reserved as his cousin, decided to settle into his own seat without vexing her further. "Hold the oar as I do," he instructed, "and by rotating your arms like so," here, he paused to demonstrate, causing the boat to drift, "you can easily propel our vessel in the correct direction. When you become more experienced, we can add the other oar to match me."

Elliot was left no other option but to turn in her seat and follow his lead. As she pulled the single oar, she met with more resistance from the river than she thought, and had to lean back to gather sufficient strength. In the end, their vessel did move, albeit a bit crookedly to the side. Mr. Fitzwilliam quickly corrected their path by rowing on the opposite side of Elliot.

"Very good," he said, "you only need to repeat that action, oh, a few hundred times, collect a few blisters upon your palms, build up muscles in your arms, and you shall become a true proficient! But by then, I would have graduated, for this is my third year, and you will not have the chance of competing against me!"

_"A few hundred times"! _was all Elliot retained in her panic. She was a gentleman's daughter, and despite not being usually missish, it was preposterous for her to risk acquiring any sort of damage upon her hands if she was to marry well at all! She twisted around, and was about to protest the notion of ever again taking up such brutish activity, when Mr. Fitzwilliam sent a pleasantly charming smile her way. "Do not worry, I understand this is your first time. I will help you through this, and we shall earn our victory over Darcy!" he said enthusiastically, and with such amiability that reduced her to silence. Mr. Fitzwilliam then took up the two remaining oars, and demonstrated his expertise by rowing in a seemingly effortless air.

There was no graceful manner in which Elliot could refuse such an accommodating request. She was, after all, at Cambridge, disguised as _Elliot, _as a man, and she had to become accustomed to being treated as one! She therefore used all her strength and pulled upon her oar to propel the boat, making sure to follow her partner's rhythm. Mr. Fitzwilliam mirrored her actions with great energy, never forgetting to give her encouragement when she was in need.

"Darcy!" cried Fitzwilliam, as they were making steady progress, "Elliot and I challenge you to a bumping race! If we hit you before the Anchor on Silver street, we win!" To Elliot, he said, "follow my lead, and if we row together, I am positive we can catch up to him!"

Elliot blamed her sudden enthusiasm on her competitive nature, and on the momentum Mr. Fitzwilliam had gained for the race. There was a curious feeling of satisfaction as she rowed, knowing her effort was rewarded by the forward motion of their boat. Soon the labour did not seem so vexing and pointless, despite the dull ache of her shoulders, as they slowly closed the distance between Mr. Darcy's canoe and their pair-oars. A gentle autumn breeze blew as they exercised, cooling their exertions and enticing the willow trees to dance as they passed them by. Although she was concentrating on the task of rowing, and hoping not to develop any blisters, part of her attention was aware of the sheer beauty of her environs. They had thus far passed a few bridges, intricately crafted and intimate in its setting amidst nature. The sky was a perfect hue of cyan, with few clouds to cover its vastness, and the quiet slipping away of the water perfectly reflected the restorative serenity, despite their vigorous rowing. Although walking was still her preferred method of exercise, she could now understand the attraction of boating for many undergraduates.

She was torn out of her reverie when Mr. Darcy's voice resounded very near. "We are nearly there, Richard. Is this the most you can do?" he taunted at the last bend of the river, a small distance still separating their boats.

Indeed, if she turned around, she would see they were approaching the beautiful bridge south of St Catharine's College, and Mr. Fitzwilliam redoubled his efforts. "Come Elliot, one last effort! My cousin will not let me live it down if I lose to him! I am the captain of St. John's boating team after all!"

Elliot was not sure if her limited strength contributed to their sudden hastened advancement, but very soon they had caught up with the tail of Mr. Darcy's canoe. "Do not underestimate me, Darcy!" chided her partner as they were about to bump into him. "And do not underestimate Elliot, either!"

Mr. Darcy did not answer, but it was clear by then that Mr. Fitzwilliam, who had three years of experience on the Cam, would emerge victorious. The race had been a close run, and Elliot was sure she had been more a burden than a help, but the labour, the ache in her shoulder, and the realisation of what they had accomplished once they bumped none too gently into their rival's boat could only serve to fuel her enthusiasm.

Once they had completely stopped, the events of the day began to register in her mind. Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy stepped on land, their chests panting, but both of them looked satisfied, despite the results of the race. As they shook hands and clapped each other's shoulders, Elliot still sat onboard, her head spinning from the sudden, strenuous exercise. She knew she had to quickly disembark, for fear of being lifted out again like a log!

"Bennet, are you well?" queried Mr. Darcy, as he approached the river's edge.

Elliot could scarcely respond. She stumbled on the dock as a sudden wave of dizziness beset her, and the next minute she was convinced she would collide with the deck.

Mr. Darcy was quick, catching her in his arms. "Richard!" he growled, "whatever compelled you to drive Bennet to exhaustion? You knew this was his first time rowing, did you not? How could you let this happen?" Darcy bellowed, as he attempted to bring Elliot further away from the water.

"No, Mr. Darcy, I assure you I am well," she protested weakly. "I only need a moment to catch my breath..." She knew she was clutching upon the lapels of his coat, yet it was all she could do to keep herself steady. She only needed to lean onto Mr. Darcy for a few more seconds before she had rested enough for her light-headedness to pass. Once she was master of herself again, the enormity of what she was doing struck her, and with more force than she had intended, she pushed him away.

"F-forgive me!" she cried, and ran past him to join a very apologetic Mr. Fitzwilliam.

"Bennet, how are you feeling?" he asked, as he gripped her arms in concern.

"I am well, I assure you," she repeated, with a smile. "I am simply unaccustomed to such strenuous activity, but I am sure that I will fare better with time."

"I pushed you too far and I beg your pardon for overlooking your fragility. I admit I was concentrated upon the task of bumping Darcy, and had not expected you to labour so hard..." he offered, extremely downcast. "Forgive me, Bennet."

"Elliot," said she.

"Excuse me?"

"Elliot. You asked if you might address me by my given name, and I never answered. Please, call me Elliot," she returned with a grin that left Mr. Fitzwilliam in no confusion of her forgiving nature.

"Elliot," he repeated with a wide smile.

* * *

Their adventure on the Cam could not end without Elliot and Fitzwilliam exchanging an unnecessarily lengthy goodbye. The latter extended to both Trinitarians an invitation to a water party to take place in a fortnight, which Elliot readily accepted, much to the consternation of Mr. Darcy, who could then scarcely refuse. Elliot left in high spirits, for she now could anticipate seeing Mr. Fitzwilliam again, and in her enthusiasm, she did not notice the silence that stretched between herself and Mr. Darcy.

"I would like to offer an explanation for my behaviour on Wednesday last, when we were in Dr. Ashford's Mathematics lecture," Mr. Darcy finally said, on their walk back to Trinity.

"For comparing me unflatteringly to someone hideous?" she asked, half-amused, half-offended.

Mr. Darcy retreated into his mask of consternation. "No, you misunderstood me."

"I seem to do quite a substantial amount of that, according to your assessment."

"You do," he said resolutely.

"Pray enlighten me as to your original meaning then, sir. But I will not promise to cease tormenting you should the answer not be satisfying," she professed with a grin.

Mr. Darcy turned his head sharply in her direction, as if suddenly realizing that her staring at him that morning, which he dismissed as being part of Elliot's natural curiosity, had actually been carefully designed to cause him uneasiness. His whole stature immediately straightened, as he was wont to do whenever he felt anxious. "When you left your bedchamber in your sporting attire..." he began, but for lack of a better way to continue, decided to chance another approach. "I believe your youth reminded me of my young sister, Georgiana," he finally blurted. Mr. Darcy was convinced there could be no other reason for him to feel so instinctively protective of his roommate.

Elliot's steps faltered, causing Mr. Darcy to stop in his tracks and face him inquiringly. When he had a clear look at Elliot's visage, he could see his eyes widened with fear and his entire body shaking. Elliot's countenance could have been no different from that of a fowl caught in a trap.

"Your... _sister_, sir?" she inquired with a trembling voice.

"You see? I do not believe you hideous. My younger sister, though shy, is surely to grow into a respectable and elegant lady."

"But..." she stammered, when suddenly, her eyes brightened, and her whole posture straightened. "Oh," she said, as comprehension dawned. "You mean, that I reminded you of your sister because we are close in age," she said. _Not because I look like a lady, _she added to herself.

"Yes, you are correct, though Georgiana is younger than you still."

"Oh," she exclaimed again, extremely relieved, and with a teasing smile she added: "of course, you and your cousin have not had enough of insulting me by comparing me with women!"

"I did not mean it as a slight to your... er, masculinity," Mr. Darcy defended. "I should never have brought it up," he then muttered as he turned away awkwardly, but not quietly enough for Elliot to miss.

Elliot could not prevent her laughter this time, relieved, amused, and perpetually intrigued by this awkward specimen of a gentleman who had the misfortune of sharing his quarters with her.

**TBC**

[1] Johninan: Student from St. John's College, Cambridge. The equivalent for a student in Trinity is "Trinitarian".

* * *

**Next Up:** Mr. Darcy finally gets to meet the intriguing Miss Elizabeth! Wait, why does she look vaguely familiar to him...?

**Comment +1 if you feel like screaming "IT'S ABOUT BLOODY TIME WE GOT SOME ROMANCE IN HERE!"**


	6. A Solitary Walk (With Sir Grumpyface)

Er, can I blame midterms for the lateness of this chapter? It is a bit more lengthy than usual, but I didn't have the heart to cut it into two parts...  
But, the good thing is chapter 7 and 8 are in the works, and I will make up for the last two weeks of inactiveness by updating hopefully twice more before the end of next week.

As usual, any and every praise go to my betas, Linda and Jim! Although Jim is going on a vacation, so please wish him a good time! Any subsequent mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

* * *

**Chapter 6: A Solitary Walk (With Sir Grumpyface)**

If Mr. Darcy suspected Elliot of avoiding his and Mr. Wickham's society, he would have been entirely correct in his assessment. If he verbalised his suppositions, she would fervently discredit any such conjecture. For all her tact and courage, Elliot had enough of sporting for one se'nnight; after all, she had endured it at Mr. Wickham and Mr. Fitzwilliam's insistence. (She was not about to confess her shortcomings to the wilful, prideful, and infinitely conceited Mr. Darcy though!)

Nevertheless, if anyone believed the task of disappearing from Mr. Darcy's presence were easily accomplished, they would have been gravely mistaken. Her roommate seemed to follow her at every opportunity, to every one of her classes, and more often than not wearing a scowl as he stared at her in disapproval. Elliot could not overcome it; she was terribly annoyed, and perhaps also rather intimidated by her austere neighbour.

In the third weekend at Cambridge, Elliot bide it no longer. Mr. Darcy's constant presence, combined with the impossibility of locking the door to her chamber kept her on a constant vigil over her appearance. At night, she dared not sleep in womanly gowns, nor remove her wig. Bathing could only be done at the sacrifice of her dinner hour. Only then she could rest assured Mr. Darcy would be more than an unlocked door away. (And that was only after going through the mortifying process of knocking on her two neighbours doors to borrow their basins, and again having been on the receiving end of Mr. Wickham's smirk and Mr. Darcy's frown. Neither of the two was ignorant of what she was about, but they did not comment. Their silence did not curb her embarrassment in the least.)

It was simply too much. As much as she first rejoiced at the notion of playing Elliot's role, she now desperately wanted to return to being Elizabeth again. Therefore, when Mr. Darcy informed her he would be leaving at daylight on Saturday on an errand for his father, and would not return before curfew, Elliot took his news as her long-awaited chance to enjoy girlhood again.

Thus, on Saturday morning—once secure that Mr. Darcy had left their quarters—she ventured outside in womanly gowns. After changing and clandestinely exiting Trinity, she furtively walked the narrower, deserted streets. When she encountered a few servants preparing for their daily chores, she paid them no heed, and they did not stare for too long, as she quickly disappeared around a corner. By ducking into the woodlands south of her College, Elizabeth could wander cloaked by the secrecy nature provided. Amidst the trees and shrubbery along little-worn paths, she avoided being surprised by fellow early risers. She knew full well it was not entirely proper for a girl not yet out to scamper about unchaperoned. If she were seen, and if the other party were inclined to call her on her impropriety, she would be in a rather precarious situation.

But as it was, very few gentlemen, and even fewer ladies, rose ahead of the fashionable hour. Elizabeth felt safe in believing none of them preferred the small alleys over the wider commercial streets, and few had the courage to stray from the paths laid out in the parks. Indeed, had her circumstances been different, she would not have taken such extreme care. However, it could not be helped. She desperately needed a good walk alone, as herself…as Elizabeth.

She was glad she dressed warmly, for the autumn chill was settling in. She looked around and, secure in the knowledge no conscious soul was nearby, began to thoroughly enjoy her freedom for the day. She twirled once, admiring the untouched beauty of the surroundings with a profoundly satisfied smile. She skipped through the wooded areas, relishing in the morning sunlight filtering through the turning foliage. A gust of wind blew, causing the trees to roar and their reddened leaves to fall in a whirlpool of colour. Elizabeth delighted in this display and in her enthusiasm, swirled in the falling leaves. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The smell of morning dew mixed with the smoke tinged approach of cold invaded her senses.

She had quite forgotten her pledge to keep out of sight when she saw a small hill ahead. As was her wont, she savoured the effort of walking to the top—it was not very steep—just to feel the exhilaration of running down. She must have gained too much speed, for she could not stop her momentum. She panicked at the sudden appearance of a manly shadow emerging from behind a tree. The man's nose was in some documents. She desperately tried to stop but could not, and with a small exclamation, collided into his side.

Had the man not been so concentrated upon his reading, he might have been quick enough to avoid the collision. However, distracted as he was by his papers, and not expecting anyone to have risen so early to take a walk in such a deserted place, he had no warning except the suddenly shuffling leaves as Elizabeth descended upon him, pushing him to the ground. Completely caught off guard, he tumbled face-first onto the soil, which was inconveniently wet from the previous day's rain.

His papers burst skyward before falling gracefully, scattered amongst entangling limbs. Elizabeth reacted immediately and jumped to her feet. She recognised the coat and cologne all too well. She was about to flee when a hand closed upon her wrist, halting her in her steps. The man had righted himself and had patted his coat into some semblance of order. He then picked up his hat and gathered his pages with his free hand. The full strength of his ire was now directed upon her. Elizabeth lowered her face for fear of recognition. She knew it was a futile attempt; she was wearing the same attire as on their first meeting. Instead, she desperately tried to think of an escape.

"Tree climbing, and now running?" Mr. Darcy asked, infuriated. "You are dressed as a gentlewoman, but I am inclined to think the worst of you for such shameless behaviour."

She dared not reply, nor lift her eyes, but her mind began to form a solution.

"What is your name, pray, and who is your family? Surely they cannot condone such impropriety in one so young," he berated. Despite sensing she had no intention of enlightening him, he persisted. "What are your parents thinking? Are you determined to shame your relations?"

He sighed in frustration. Her posture, downturned and repentant, reminded him of his sister when he chastised her, and the memory forbade him from staying angry for long, even after such an unbecoming fall. He let go of her wrist, and searched his pocket for something with which to wipe his face free of the damp ground affixed to it.

She still did not look at him, but she promptly pressed her handkerchief against his cheek. He could feel her hand shaking from what he believed was fright. Sighing, he took it from her, his fingers brushed against hers in passing. Her hand darted back to her side, and with another sigh, he gingerly dabbed at his face. "Will you not answer my queries?" he tried once more.

Elizabeth remained silent, but chanced a glance at him. He was staring at her, a look of comprehension dawning on his visage. "Could you…" he began, quite sure he suddenly understood something important. "Could you perhaps… be mute?" he asked, looking secure in his speculation and very sorry for her.

She could not resist lifting her eyebrow at him. "I am not, sir."

All at once his face heated, and he turned away. His shoulders went rigid and his scowl returned. "Of course not," he spat angrily. "And what are you doing here?"

"Running, as you have yourself evidenced, in more ways than one, sir," she answered impertinently.

His gaze fell upon her again, but this time he had a full view of her countenance. He was considerably taller than she, but she eyed him with a gleam of challenge, her head upturned, and her chin held high. In that moment, he caught the initials embroidered in the handkerchief she had given him, E B, and it was but a moment before he realised just where he had seen her before. His eyes widened, a myriad of expressions displayed in them in rapid succession: recognition, disbelief, wonder, astonishment, incredulity. He opened his mouth as if wanting to speak but closed it again. His gaped at her for some time, and tried once more. "Elliot Bennet?" he blurted.

"Elizabeth, actually," she replied archly.

He remained silent, but it looked as if a fog had cleared from his mind. She could practically hear him thinking.

"Elizabeth Bennet," he concluded, looking incredibly relieved and a tad sheepish.

She curtsied prettily and smiled.

"You are…"

"Elliot's twin sister, yes."

"I had thought, that is, Mr. Bennet led me to believe your family resided in Hertfordshire," he asked, frowning.

"Indeed you are correct, sir. My father owns a small country estate," she said, but did not elaborate.

"But you are here, alone?"

She did not answer and began walking. He easily fell into step with her. "I am your brother's roommate, Fitzwilliam Darcy," he provided. "It is not proper for you to be here alone."

"If you insist on being entirely proper, sir, you should be ignoring my presence, for I am not yet out and your acknowledgement of my even being alive would quite shock society."

He frowned, as if trying to make her out. Elizabeth had such a mixture of sweetness and archness in her response that baffled her new acquaintance as to her real meaning. Had she been trifling with him, or was she implicitly criticising the rules of society? If she were indeed Elliot Bennet's twin sister, she would be just a girl! Yet she was professing her opinions in such a decided and confident manner, he could not quite understand if it were from youthful indecorousness or excessive intelligence.

"Proper behaviour is to be encouraged if we wish for society to improve," he replied at length.

"That is quite correct, sir, yet people might disagree as to the fundamental elements that constitute proper behaviour."

"A girl walking outside unchaperoned so early in the morning, and in such a deserted place, could not constitute proper behaviour no matter whom you would inquire after," he challenged.

She was about to reply that lying, as he had done, was no better, for Mr. Darcy had assured Elliot he would be away on some business, not alone wandering the woods as he was doing. But Elizabeth had no way of knowing this, and so she chose to stay silent, begrudgingly allowing him to win this round.

"I will escort you home," he said in a decided manner, assuming she was at least living with some member of her family in Cambridgeshire. "And I will have a talk with your relations."

"It will be a long walk and you will have to take it alone," she retorted, thinking of Longbourn with the first pangs of homesickness.

Mr. Darcy seemed to have understood her sarcasm, for he remained silent and sullen.

Elizabeth walked ahead, determined the infuriating man would not ruin her morning. She spun around once, keeping her eyes on the colourful elegance of her surroundings but mourning Mr. Darcy's frown, which quite ruined the otherwise impeccable landscape. A few leaves fluttered about, but it was not until a sudden and forceful wind blew, playing with her curls and skimming through the treetops, that the silence between them was broken. Caught off guard, Mr. Darcy kept one hand upon his hat to hold it still, but the winds toyed with his documents, and successfully wrestled them from his grasp. The pages scattered with the gale, gliding between the branches, always just one step out of reach. Mr. Darcy poorly repressed a growl of frustration, which amused Elizabeth all the more. With a delighted chuckle, she sprang forward, running after the dancing papers and delighting in the rustling sound of the leaves beneath her feet.

She was a spirited creature, healthy and independent, and Mr. Darcy had never seen anything so enchanting in his life. She leapt over puddles and chased animatedly after his wayward pages while the wind fluttered her dress and the ribbons of her bonnet. Leaves seemed to cavort about as she bent to shepherd his papers, and he stood transfixed as she completed her self-imposed task. Soon, she skipped back to him. Once close enough he could see, as the sun hit her girlish and delicate frame, that the exercise greatly brightened her complexion and enlivened her eyes. She was smiling; a mixture of triumph, satisfaction, and defiance. For the first time, Mr. Darcy found himself at a loss of words. She, on the other hand, looked as though she had much to say, but a mischievous glimmer in her eyes convinced him that she had even more to conceal.

She finally settled on saying only, "Good day, Mr. Darcy," as she thrust the documents to his chest before bouncing in a perfect curtsey.

He had barely managed to perform the required bow when, without a second glance at him, she left him standing alone, riveted upon her retreating figure.

The gentlewomen he had known in his twenty years of life had mostly been subdued creatures. They sat very still, sang and danced with little passion, and educated themselves with what was fashionable but without ever searching for more. Not one dared speak to him without deference. He was accustomed to women behaving as frail and entirely too helpless creatures, and since he had no intention of marrying any of them, he was contented to simply admire the few handsome ones from afar. His earliest memories of his mother were warm and gentle, but the long years of sickness and fragility that plagued her since his childhood would forever dominate his reminiscences. His sister, Georgiana, was too young, too shy, and too bent on pleasing their father to ever act outside the limits of propriety.

In light of his upbringing, Elizabeth Bennet was an aberration. She spoke only to taunt him, and he certainly would have dismissed her as senseless and silly had she not, with every retort, sounded wise beyond her years. She was strong, vigourous, impertinent, and the picture of well-being. She was not subdued and not completely decorous in her display of emotions. He would not have tolerated such behaviour from his sister, yet he could not censure Elizabeth for the waves of joie de vivre that seemed to radiate from her. The innocent manner in which she expressed her happiness to be alive, for no one but herself, only contributed to discompose him. He knew not what to think.

It took him quite some time to accept that she successfully deflected and ignored all of his questions. Apart from her name and her connection to his roommate, he learnt nothing of her. Perhaps it was for the best, he tried to reason. Her face was not extraordinarily handsome, her whole person was immature, and for lack of scrutiny, he could not recall what her figure even resembled. She surely had very few connections to her name, and her brother was an excruciatingly painful boy with whom to live. Darcy was convincedhe would not have glanced at her twice had they met in any other circumstance, for she was just a girl. It was the mystery surrounding her that puzzled him; she was a riddle, and his father knew how he detested not being able to solve them.

It was positively maddening!

* * *

Elliot reappeared by noon, and after dining alone in the Hall, decided to forget the vexing encounter of the morning. She would definitely not take that particular path again, she thought wryly, as she prepared to leave the College by another direction. This time, she walked north of Trinity, relieved to be using the main pathway instead of hiding down dark alleys. Though not jealous by nature, Elizabeth could not help but feel envious of men, who possessed the advantage of independence if for no other reason than being born the right sex. She was, however, not one to dwell much upon these inevitabilities, and dismissed these depressing thoughts immediately.

As she turned a corner, however, two very familiar figures exited a storehouse, seemingly in deep conversation, and recognising Mr. Darcy as one of them, she tried to walk past inconspicuously.

"I heard from Mr. Collins that Elliot has five sisters! Five! Can you believe it, Darcy?" cried Mr. Fitzwilliam. Elliot walked faster still, not wanting to eavesdrop upon their conversation, but she could not help hearing as she navigated subtly across the street.

"Mr. Collins? Trinity's vicar?" Mr. Darcy replied.

"Met him on the Cam after morning service… or rather, he accosted me as I was preparing my boat!"

"What?" Mr. Darcy said, repulsed.

"His very gracious and noble patroness, it happens, is our favourite aunt, Lady Catherine. Fear not, he only recognised me because of my surname. It might take him a while yet to come knocking on your door!" Mr. Fitzwilliam said in jest.

"What is his connection to Mr. Bennet?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"They are distant cousins, apparently, as Mr. Collins learned only a day ago. There was a question of an entail upon some propriety, I think, but it seemed a rather strange subject. Mr. Collins was quite confused, himself."

At this imparting of news, Elliot's pace slowed considerably. Distant cousins? Could Mr. Collins be the heir to Longbourn? She had not intended to listen, but when Mr. Fitzwilliam continued in an energetic manner, she found she had almost stopped walking.

"But good God, Darcy, five sisters! If they are anything as entertaining as Elliot, I would dearly wish to know them."

"You might appreciate Miss Elizabeth, in that case," Mr. Darcy said dryly. When Mr. Fitzwilliam suddenly expressed his interest, the look of pure exasperation on Mr. Darcy's countenance left Elliot in no doubt Mr. Darcy now dearly wished he had kept his last comment to himself.

"Miss Elizabeth? You met with his family?"

"Good God, no," Mr. Darcy exclaimed.

"Well, you obviously met with this Miss Elizabeth. But I am all curiosity. What does she look like? Is she anything like Elliot?" Mr. Fitzwilliam asked eagerly; he was inquisitive, but not completely serious in his interest.

"She is… singular."

There was a weighty pause before Mr. Fitzwilliam exclaimed with renewed vigour: "Was that… was that a compliment, Darcy? Old chap, you are smitten!"

"For Pete's sake, lower your voice, Richard!" Mr. Darcy hissed. "I am the absolute opposite of smitten. She is Elliot Bennet's twin, still but a girl, and she has nothing to recommend her!"

"Yet that is the first time I have heard anything close to a favourable reception of a female coming from you," his cousin answered disbelievingly. "Is she very handsome?"

"I would not know," Mr. Darcy replied angrily. "I was not attentive to that, and I cannot believe you would think me low enough to be… drawn into the charms of a girl not yet out!"

"Well, you are surely interested, or you would not have described her so advantageously. Well, advantageously considering your usual ruthless judgement of the fairer sex."

"I am interested as a mathematician would be in an unsolved problem," Mr. Darcy replied dispassionately. "She has a way with words that allows her to defer one's bluntest questions without one even noticing. But she is decidedly not handsome nor mature enough to tempt me!"

Elliot was seething. She knew not what Mr. Fitzwilliam replied for she stomped away from them, but she had never felt so thoroughly insulted in her life. She had never wished for Mr. Darcy's good opinion, but to hear him disparage her and accuse her of arts and allurements, even indirectly, was too much. She was not yet of marriageable age—although her mother would not have waited one day to introduce her to society after she turned fifteen, had she been at home—and even if she were, he would be the last man she would consider! Selfish, insufferable man!

It was positively maddening!

* * *

Elliot arrived at Trinity's chess club in a less than agreeable mood. She had missed the first round of play offs, during which they determined who to retain for the term. The second round, she had been warned, would be her last chance to join the club. She had barely signed her name in the registry when Mr. Collins, the vicar, approached her.

"Mr. Bennet?" he asked, waving his arms to catch Elliot's attention.

"Mr. Collins," she finally said, supressing her ire.

"My great, benevolent, and noble patroness recently informed me that I have, most assuredly, some kind of inheritance within my family circle, and, as is her wont, she was entirely correct. Upon her recommendation, I wrote to my agent, and it seems your father's estate is entailed away from the female line, with me being his closest male relative," he exclaimed, but then quickly added, "other than you, of course".

"Mr. Collins, this is hardly appropriate…"

"Yes, yes, cousin, I understand there must be some mistake!" Mr. Collins hastily added, seeing her rising displeasure. "But… you are in good health, are you not, Mr. Bennet?" he could not help adding.

She could scarce prevent her lips from parting in disbelief. Could the man be more insulting? "Mr. Collins, as Trinity College's vicar, I am rather wondering at your presence, here, in a gentleman's club. Surely these senseless activities are beneath your station. I cannot imagine your noble patroness condoning such behaviour."

"No indeed, cousin. On the contrary, I consider chess and other such board games a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with my profession. In fact, I am in my second year of College still, and it was only with Lady Catherine's graceful munificence that I am allowed to exercise my vocation here. 'Mr. Collins!' she told me, 'you must not dwell on idle things such as books, nor on senseless things such as sporting overly much, for they quite damage your health. You must partake of a variety of moderate activities, for experience is a successful vicar's greatest recommendation'. And so you see me here, dearest cousin, to participate in this second round of selection for the chess club! Had I been blessed with…" he babbled on as he tailed after her.

Elliot had heard enough. This man was absurd! If he was not yet graduated, he was not in possession of sufficient expertise to practise his profession at all! Lady Catherine, however, surely wielded some great influence upon the College for the board to bend to her whims. Indeed, Mr. Collins had nothing to recommend him other than his blind devotion to his most compassionate benefactress.

She was about to excuse herself from his presence, but had not quite managed to do so when the club captain announced the beginning of the games. Tables had been set, each of them hosting one board and two chairs, and new comers were to select a seat and play. The victors and losers would then compete amongst themselves to retain only the finest players for the Michaelmas term. To Elliot's dismay, Mr. Collins settled across her table, and continued to talk even as the room quieted. For quite some time, his less-than-pleasing voice soared across the hall, in discord with the sharp clatter of chess pieces being moved across the board. Elliot felt flushed when the captain of the club glanced disapprovingly in their direction from his table a few feet away. She must concentrate upon the game, in hopes of ending it before Mr. Collins could thoroughly embarrass her in front of other club fellows.

"And so, my dear cousin," the oblivious vicar continued, "I have asked my agent to further research the matter with the entail, and he has promised to devise a suitable conclusion before…"

"Checkmate," Elliot replied urgently.

There was a sudden collective lull; heads discreetly turned their way. With great mortification, Elliot realised many had been listening to the vicar's soliloquy. Shortly thereafter, the captain of the club abandoned his own game, and relieved her from Mr. Collins' company when he announced, with an amused and lifted brow, that the victory was genuine. As she crossed the room to list her name on the registry, she felt the puzzled stares of the room's occupants—some openly challenging—for she was the first to have won the round. Others evinced ill-contained disdain for her partner's lack of decorum.

Shortly after everyone returned to their boards, the captain announced his victory against a poor soul who arrived late and had the unfortunate task of filling the only vacant chair in the room. Indeed, the captain, Lord Carrington, was reputed throughout Trinity for his undefeated record. When Elliot stood aside, waiting for the others to finish their games, she was surprised to see the captain cross the room to her. Lord Carrington was not a tall man, but his strong build and challenging mind balanced his lack of height. His impeccable blond hair was pulled back, and the dignity of his carriage seemed designed to remind those beneath him of their inferior rank. His black gown was laced with gold, a clear sign of his place amongst the peerage, and despite his smile, he did not altogether possess an open disposition. His features were strong and marked though not entirely symmetrical; his icy blue eyes were decisively his best asset. When he introduced himself, his tone was confident and authoritative, but not unpleasant.

"I see you have stolen my place as the first victor of the match," he said with a levelled voice that was neither entirely welcoming nor taunting. "The infamous Scholar's mate[1]… I did not think anyone would be fooled by such a move in our day."

"Forgive me, my Lord, if I trespassed upon your sensibilities," Elliot replied, unashamed. "I have not heard of a rule refraining competing players from aiming for a quick victory."

"Indeed, no such rule exists, it would hardly be fair," Lord Carrington declared good-humouredly. "But you have now secured my attention, and I would not forgo the pleasure of playing at least once against you," he challenged.

"The pleasure of at least once defeating me, you mean," she provided with a teasing look, which indeed made the other laugh amiably.

"That is yet undecided," he replied, but did note that this player was not intimidated. "And to whom do I owe the pleasure of my next game?" he inquired.

"Elliot Bennet," she replied, but did not have the chance to elaborate for another pair finished their game and required Lord Carrington's attention.

"I look forward to our play, Mr. Bennet."

He left without introducing himself, clearly confident his name was known to all present and prospective members.

* * *

Truly, when she had accepted his challenge, Elliot thought only of playing her best, without thinking too much on the outcome. Before coming to Cambridge, she finally managed to vanquish her excellent father after three years of his tutelage and her self-study of the game. She had not the opportunity of competing outside of the borders of Hertfordshire, and so knew not what to expect. Therefore, when an hour into the game she had lost all but her king, and reduced Lord Carrington's forces to his king, a knight and a pawn, she knew she had been bested. By then, a small crowd were gathered around, most other games having been completed.

Her opponent glanced at her from across the table, and let a satisfied and triumphant smirk stretch across his mien. "Ready to accept your fate?" he jeered.

"No," she replied determinedly. If she maneuvered carefully, and if Lord Carrington were to make a mistake, the game could end in a draw. The chances of her experienced opponent blundering were slight, and she now began to suspect he had not been playing at his best, but Elliot was determined not to end without struggle.

"Resistance is futile," Lord Carrington shrugged as he moved his knight to check her king again.

Elliot moved her only remaining piece stubbornly, her gaze fixed upon the board with such concentration that she could not see her opponent's amused expression. Indeed, not three moves later, Lord Carrington had made only the best possible decisions and cornered her king.

"Checkmate," he declared, bringing her last piece to its knees with a flick of his fingers.

The cheering and shouting were thunderous, but amidst the cacophony, Elliot's eyes met Lord Carrington's, and her determination left him in no doubt he had just been shown the credentials of a formidable rival.

* * *

_Dearest Jane,_

_The day after tomorrow will mark my third week in Cambridge, and there is so much I wish to tell you! I am well, and have become rather accustomed to living alone. Granted, not as alone as I would wish, but that is a story for another time. I have related the particulars of my recent rooming arrangements to Papa, so defer to him if you wish to know more. Before you start worrying, however, let me put your mind at rest by saying that despite its inconveniences, I am appreciating living under Elliot's name and am performing my role quite successfully._

_I have been thinking of Longbourn often in the past few days, and I am heartily missing your presence at my side. What am I to do without your gentle counsel and affectionate guidance? I hope Papa has not been terribly lonely after my departure. I know you do not approve of his decision to send me here, but you must understand that I have done it largely because I know it will help ease his heart. Oh Jane, I wish I could do so much more for him, but very little beyond this can be achieved. Papa needs time after the physician confirmed Mama's inability to have more children, and so I must selfishly trespass upon your goodness and remind you not to relay a word to the rest our relations. If mama, for instance, were to learn of my being in Cambridge instead of at boarding school[2], it would take little more than an hour before the whole of Meryton knows of it, and scarcely a day will pass before I am expelled from Trinity. I know how it pains you to hide such important information from our family, but for the sake of our future and Papa's sanity, I beg you once more to remain silent._

_On another, happier note, I have made two acquaintances in Trinity. I assure you, there can be no two undergraduates more puzzling than they are. On our second week of school, Mr. Amiablepuffs and Sir Grumpyface, (no, no, you shall not convince me to refer to them by their real names! Although the information is far from confidential, their names are not quite as befitting as their nicknames) took me on an adventure…_

Thus the letter continued for two more pages. Elliot had just managed to sign herself with "Your most devoted sister, Lizzy" when the door opened and Mr. Darcy invaded their sitting room. Elliot tossed sand upon her writing, and stood up to hide its contents from her roommate. Although she did not truly believe Mr. Darcy low enough to trespass upon her privacy, she could not help exerting caution.

"You are returned!" she exclaimed.

"As you see," he replied noncommittally as he shed his coat.

"Have your errands for your father been fruitful?" she inquired sharply, more out of politeness than interest.

"Quite."

Seeing he had no intention of conversing, Elliot sat and sealed her letter. Mr. Darcy went to rest in his usual chair, and once settled, followed her movements with a contemplative frown.

"I encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet this morning," he began. "She was…"

Elliot could not refrain from tensing. "Mr. Darcy!" she interjected desperately. "Please, I do not wish to speak of her."

"Are you not on good terms with your family?"

"No, quite the opposite. My sister and I are very close, so much so that any and every thing you relay to me regarding her will inevitably find its way to her ears."

When Mr. Darcy failed to reply, Elliot retreated to her bedchamber and firmly closed the door with all possible haste. Tomorrow, she vowed, would bring better tidings, for she was determined to join Trinity's debate team. Surely the daily confrontations with Mr. Darcy would soon train her to be the most accomplished member of the club and with time, she might learn to tolerate his insufferable presence with better skill.

**TBC**

* * *

[1] A sequence in chess that ends the game within four moves. It is widely popularized, thus is not usually effective on experienced players.  
[2] Women of Elizabeth's age could be sent to girls' boarding school, where they teach all kinds of feminine accomplishments, such as sewing and stitching.

* * *

**Next up: **Who will Elliot meet at the debate club? (This is almost a rhetorical question...). And are those... _presents _on her doorstep for her fifteenth birthday?

There can only be two kinds of people in this world: those on Mr. Amiablepuff's side, or those supporting Sir Grumpyface. Which side are you on? Do leave a comment!  



	7. An Abstract Dispute (On Poetry)

Quick update, as promised! All thanks to the two loveliest betas on this earth: Linda and Jim! (Hope you had a great time, Jim!) That, and I'd like to thank everyone that left a comment for your support! I think all of us authors agree that they are the best encouragement. Don't be shy with criticism either, I absolutely love to hear things that will help me improve!

Oh, and as expected, Team Grumpyface won, no thanks to YOU BIASED READERS! (I'm just kidding, I totally support Grumpyface too).

* * *

**Chapter 7: An Abstract Dispute (On Poetry, Of All Things)**

Mr. Wickham joined Elliot on her walk to Trinity's debate club on Sunday after church, for he was going to Sinclair's Board for some fencing. Sinclair's was conveniently situated in the same direction. Despite his recent absence, they soon fell into conversation, and Elliot found him as agreeable as ever. Mr. Wickham apologised for his actions on the Cam regarding Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam, and admitted to some discord with them. His sincerity and repentance, in Elliot's eyes, were testimony of his general good breeding, and she could not imagine how such an amiable man could be the perpetrator of plagiarism.

Mr. Wickham spoke of his diligence on the Cam, as well as in the study room. He assured her, he aimed to graduate with honours, and not for himself alone. Mr. Wickham felt he owed as much to his godfather, who was one of the best man that ever breathed, and who brought him up to be the genteel person he was today. He was excessively attached to the elder Mr. Darcy, and affirmed the sentiment was mutual. Plagiarism, in light of Mr. Wickham's determination, seemed entirely unfitting. They had, by then, almost reached Mr. Wickham's destination, but were interrupted in their partings when an undergraduate from Kings' College bid them closer.

"Mr. Wickham!" the stranger exclaimed from behind a table set on the grass, slightly off the road. "Come, I challenge you to a game of chess!"

With a curious glance at her friend, Elliot decided to follow along. There was still time before the beginning of her club activities, and she was always partial to observing a game of chess.

"I do not play and you know it, Mr. Watson," replied her friend, piqued.

"Nonsense! You cannot begrudge me the pleasure of winning at least once, after you took me down yesterday at—"

"No, of course not," Mr. Wickham hastily replied, casting a nervous glance at Elliot.

"Come, sit down, and let us wager on the outcome of this game," the Kingsman[1] said.

Mr. Wickham approached, but did not seem pleased at his inability to refuse his friend. Elliot was all too happy to offer herself as an opponent for Mr. Watson. "I was accepted by Trinity's chess club yesterday," she provided when the man looked at her sceptically. "I might offer a more enthusiastic spirit, if not a more challenging game, than Mr. Wickham."

Her neighbour was only too happy to step away. He sat her in front of Mr. Watson, and with a sudden smirk, looked at his dismayed friend. "Twenty pounds on Elliot," Mr. Wickham jeered.

"What?" bellowed her opponent, outraged. "No, I cannot take that bet!"

Elliot was panicked, too. She thought the wager a jest, not that they would truly lay out money, otherwise she would not have offered to play! She was confident, but twenty pounds was an extravagance! She was torn between feeling flattered by Mr. Wickham's sureness of her ability and insulted by his audacity. "Mr. Wickham, please, can we not simply enjoy a match without monetary interest?" she cried.

"What would be the challenge in that?" Mr. Wickham exclaimed. "No, absolutely not, I have laid down my twenty pounds and it is that or nothing!"

"Then I gladly take nothing over risking so much!" cried Mr. Watson.

Mr. Wickham pursed his lips. "Fine, ten pounds instead of twenty," he conceded.

The Kingsman reflected this new offer, lifting his eyes to assess Elliot.

Her heart hammered in her chest. "Mr. Wickham, I truly shall not do this. What if I were to lose? Ten pounds is a handsome amount of money!" she fretted.

Mistaking her hesitation for weakness, Mr. Watson promptly accepted Mr. Wickham's offer—they shook upon their agreement—and he lost no time in setting the game. Elliot knew not what to do.

"There is hardly any remedy now, I am afraid. But do not fuss, I have faith in your abilities, young one!" said her neighbour with a playful wink. "If we win, let us share the money, and if we lose, I will take the burden entirely upon myself," he declared gallantly.

Elliot was unconvinced and uninterested in financial reward, but dared not focus on anything but the game. She was about to move her bishop, her hands trembling from all she had taken upon her shoulders, when a deep voice jolted her out of the game.

"I would not do that if I were you," said Mr. Darcy. From the displeasure on his countenance, she knew he had observed them for some time, and one glance at his flushed face convinced her he had just come from Sinclair's. She must have been too absorbed in her game, for she had not so much as suspected his approach.

Mr. Watson glanced at him, and quickly pled him away. "Do not distract us. We are in the middle of a wager."

"A wager?" Mr. Darcy asked, although he did not sound surprised. "Am I to gather Mr. Bennet is substituting for Mr. Wickham?"

"Go away, Darcy," moaned Mr. Wickham. "We are in the middle of a game!"

"How much are you wagering?" he persisted, unshaken.

"Ten pounds," Mr. Watson answered.

Immediately, Mr. Darcy's jawline clenched in annoyance. He glanced at Elliot, a look of sympathy upon his face, but said no more. Elliot amended her move at Mr. Darcy's insistence, and the game continued for another fifteen minutes. Finally, Elliot saw an opening and ruthlessly took Mr. Watson's queen. His strongest piece now gone, her opponent began to blunder on his subsequent moves, thus allowing Elliot to secure an easy win, five turns later. "Checkmate," she said, finally letting go of her breath.

Mr. Wickham's grin had, by then, almost reached his ears. Mr. Watson's countenance, on the other hand, turned ashen.

"Well, it seems fate favours me after all!" Mr. Wickham gloated.

"No, Mr. Wickham, fate favours Mr. Bennet," spat Mr. Darcy, as he left.

Exhausted and indifferent to the exchange of money between the two men, Elliot begged leave to pursue more pleasurable activities. Mr. Wickham slapped her on the back to show his appreciation, but she could not help but cast a sad look at Mr. Watson as they parted. At least the gentleman looked wealthy enough, from the condition of his gown and his crestfallen but not desperate aspect. She knew men partook of vile habits such as these, but if chance were truly smiling upon her, as Mr. Darcy so confidently affirmed, she only wished the experience would not be repeated in the future. Perhaps, for the sake of credibility, she might have to place a few bets here and there as Elliot, but she hoped she would never derive any pleasure from hazarding her allowance. She had barely taken a few steps before an altogether different kind of exasperation overtook her.

Mr. Darcy had, just then, unceremoniously entered Trinity's debate club.

* * *

"The subject for this afternoon's debacle…" announced the club president, wiggling his brows as he paused for effect, "…is poetry!"

When Mr. Darcy's contemplative frown deepened from across the table, Elliot refrained from groaning in misery. This was beyond ridiculous! She, who had daily arguments with her roommate, now had the obligation to engage in additional infernal disputes with him. In a debate club, of all things! If it were not for her father, she would have quit Cambridge that very instant! What had she done to deserve being shackled to Mr. Darcy _—Mr. Darcy!—_inthis kind of place?

The club president continued enthusiastically, for he was, naturally, oblivious to Elliot's suffering. "You may choose one of the following topics. First! Do you believe in poetry as the food for love? Second! Should Bowdler's _The Family Shakespeare _be found in all family homes? In other words, should indelicate poetry be banned from the ears of women and children? Third and last! Which between Lord Byron or William Wordsworth contributed the most to expanding our understanding of poetry? Now, gentlemen and gentlemen, may the furious heart wrenching, jaw splitting, and tongue lashing debate begin!"

"What do you think, Bennet?" asked Mr. Darcy as he turned, looking very eager to start.

She could not reckon why. He was surely as tired of her defiance as she was of his lack of discretion.

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food for love," Mr. Darcy finally admitted.

As she might have expected, the overbearing man did not have the delicacy to ask her opinion on the subject of their debate, instead deeming it appropriate to pick one himself. But now that he had begun, Elliot would rather suffer the mortification of falling from a tree, _again_, than losing to him in a verbal joust. She countered with: "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Mr. Darcy smiled as he contemplated her answer. "Perhaps that is so for men, but I am convinced the fairer sex does not think quite so little of the implications of a few verses sent from an admirer."

"And what do you know of the mind of ladies?" she asked sharply.

"Not overly much, I assure you," Mr. Darcy admitted, "but I am comfortable enough to believe most of them seldom think things through before being overtaken by their emotions and sensibilities. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen truly accomplished ladies, in the whole range of my acquaintance."

"You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman," Elliot taunted.

"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it. She must possess knowledge and experience in all that is typically required of her, such as singing, dancing, and the modern languages. She is to carry herself with dignity, but not defiance, yet she must be in adequate control of her sense to make enlightened decisions, regarding herself and others, within the boundaries of propriety. And to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"I never saw such a woman," Elliot countered, infuriated. "I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and courage, as you describe united. I cannot account for all women, but many are in possession of much more sense than some poor excuses of men I have seen. Had the dominant sex not censured women for wanting further education, and had women still persisted in failing to meet your expectations in their reliance on emotion after proper tutelage, then perhaps your argument would be well-founded. As it is, however, I cannot believe it valid. We are not all stupid creatures if we are given the opportunity to improve, Mr. Darcy."

"We?" he asked immediately.

"Oh!" Elliot cried, her heart suddenly beating as if she had run for a mile. "That is to say… I meant… I had been thinking… I was referring to Elizabeth…" She stammered; her hands were suddenly clammy, her eyes wide with anxiety.

"Yes, of course. I cannot censure you for defending your sister. But _I_ have not been speaking of any lady in particular," Mr. Darcy offered tentatively.

"No, that is to say…" she had not ever struggled so much with words, and was experiencing the troublesome sensation of cold sweat sliding down her back, which contrasted with her flushed cheeks.

"Please, Bennet, you may be at ease that I do not think poorly of your sister… other than, perhaps, her stubbornness and her indiscreet habit of walking out alone. And I implore, on that subject, that you speak to her. She cannot continue to scamper about without a proper chaperone when she is at such a delicate age. I am a brother myself, and I trust you understand the necessity of protecting family from… perilous situations."

"Mr. Darcy, we are digressing from the topic," she said in a desperate attempt to direct the conversation away from her blunder. If he perceived her attempt to divert his attention, he did not express it verbally. "I was defending women's education earlier, and it may be assumed from my comments that I am opposed to the notion of shielding women from Shakespeare's… more delicate poems."

"I absolutely do not agree on _that_!" Mr. Darcy replied vehemently. "Some of the bard's poems are highly immoral; they speak of adultery and expose the vices of lesser men. I cannot imagine my father, or myself for that matter, allowing my sister to read that kind of content! It is unbefitting to a lady's fragile sensibilities. _The Family Shakespeare _provides a welcome middle ground. Georgiana may choose to educate herself with all the sonnets she wants, and I should not feel anxious for her encountering any improper information."

"That is because, from what you have told me, your sister is younger than me still. If she were ten years of age, I would not wish for her to read such complicated topics either! I argue in favour of the lady, not of the child," Elliot countered. "And possessing a copy of Bowdler's publication of Shakespeare is hardly reproachable. I was simply disparaging the need of censoring all literature from a mature woman's eyes. She may determine for herself if such content is pleasing to her, just as some men chuze to gamble and others do not."

Mr. Darcy remained silent, but did not look entirely convinced. He observed her with that unnerving look, just the same as he had bestowed upon Elizabeth during their second encounter. Good God, what had she gotten herself into? Their acquaintance was already precarious before this, and now she could not imagine having to return to the same quarters with him! She wanted to be excused, to leave this place at once, but her pride forbade her retreating in the face of provocation.

"Are you quite certain you are only fourteen, Bennet?" Mr. Darcy finally asked, smiling.

"I am reaching fifteen in four days, Mr. Darcy," she replied, perplexed at the sudden change in topic.

Her roommate made some sound of approval or understanding. "And do you take an eager interest in chess?"

"Yes, my father has taught me the game since I was ten," she replied, wondering where all these questions tended.

"You do look very much like your sister, Miss Elizabeth, that is," Mr. Darcy said.

"Not _very _much," she replied defensively. "My hair does not curl as hers does, and though I am not blond, mine is lighter in colour than my twin's."

"Yes, perhaps it is so."

They were interrupted when the president of the club announced they would now begin with the second topic of the day's debate. Mr. Darcy, however, excused himself on some urgent matter, and left before time. Elliot was only too happy to see him go. She then wasted no time in finding another, more amiable opponent with whom to dispute.

* * *

When the fourth week of school started, Elliot began to feel comfortable in her routine. She balanced her time between academic work and the chess and debate clubs adroitly, and had not been scolded by Professor Wiseman again. Although they had submitted one more philosophical essay since her room change, it seemed Professor Wiseman was not yet able to discern the culprit in the plagiarism incident, which was rather perplexing, for there surely must have been a guilty party. Mr. Darcy continued to refuse assistance with his assignments, and she in turn kept her own counsel. Mr. Wickham had not asked her to edit his essays anymore either. She knew not how well Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy scored, for the former's enthusiasm was seldom curbed, and the latter's impassive expression was perpetually sketched upon his face. She was, however, satisfied with her own performance. Perhaps she could improve her writing and collect a few extra points, but there was no urgent need to rectify any of her habits.

On Thursday, October 25, Elliot awoke unusually early, excited despite her solitude, to be celebrating her fifteenth birthday. She had donned a comfortable pair of breeches and pulled on her school cap and gown. The air was damp, and the sky still dark, so she sat on her bed, awaiting the beginning of the new day. She closed her eyes and thought of her previous birthday at Longbourn.

Had she been at home, her mother would have prepared all her favourite dishes for breakfast, but before even having the chance to descend the stairs, _Elizabeth_ would have been in Jane's embrace, as her dearest sister wished her a happy birthday. Her father would join them at the table, and in a rare display of paternal affection, would give a speech in her honour, wishing her another fruitful year. Of course, he would never forget to slip in a few comments about her being one year closer to spinsterhood, which was still far away, but she could not begrudge him his fondness for humour. At the mention of spinsterhood, her mother would begin to screech and grumble, complaining of faintness, and her father would look on, sardonically amused.

Later in the day, her friend Charlotte Lucas would call, and along with herself, Jane and her beloved Papa, they would walk to Meryton to shower her with twice as many gifts as she deserved. Although Lizzy was not as well-liked as her beautiful older sister, she would be congratulated by many friends on her way to and fro. By nightfall, her younger sisters would have completed their hand-made presents, and though they were usually clumsy in their stitching and sewing, she always appreciated their thoughtfulness. Her mother would wail incessantly during supper, barely containing her tears that soon—very soon—Lizzy would be of age to come out, and her nerves were already all aflutter at the thought of having yet another daughter to marry, and no son to carry their name. Mama would bemoan the lack of suitable gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and Jane would simply smile, and pass Lizzy's favourite chocolate pudding down the table. Before she retired, however, her father would take her aside to kiss her forehead reverently, as tears filled both their eyes, and they would hold onto each other for support. Jane would be waiting to brush her hair, and as she returned the favour, they would discuss their upcoming debut into society, and both would fervently vow again, as they sealed the pact by linking their little fingers, that they would only enter matrimony for love.

The beautiful picture of familial harmony quickly shattered as her eyes opened, and she observed her masculine attire reflected in the mirror on her desk. The bitter cold of the approaching winter seeped into her room, and she shuddered involuntarily. She noticed for the first time the emptiness of her chamber, still partly hidden in shadows, and lacking the familiar feminine attributes of her girlhood home. She could almost hear, if she were really attentive, the fading echoes of her mother's voice on a day such as this. Elliot bit her lip as the recollections brought a new wave of yearning and loneliness. She was not truly discontent in Cambridge, for it had been her dearest dream to go to school, but on this special day, she missed her family terribly.

The noise of a door opening and closing alerted her that Mr. Darcy was also prepared for the day. She opened her door marginally, wishing to secretly peek at him without having to face him, but she grimaced as it creaked and Mr. Darcy turned in her direction. Her plan thus thwarted, Elliot walked into their sitting room and was surprised to see him donning his coat.

"Where are you headed, so early in the morning?" she inquired curiously.

"The woods south of Trinity," he replied succinctly.

Elliot frowned, wondering what business Mr. Darcy had in that deserted place at the break of day. She did not ask, however, and he was soon out the door without a backward glance. Elliot tarried in her room until morning service at seven, where Mr. Darcy reappeared five minutes late. His appearance was dishevelled, as if he had run a great distance to arrive in time. Fortunately for him, he succeeded in discreetly entering. He did not bother to acknowledge her, even as he sat to her right, his posture more rigid than usual.

After attending their only lecture of the day, Elliot and Mr. Darcy separated to meet their respective tutors. When she returned to her chambers at four o'clock, Mr. Darcy had not yet returned, but a parcel and three letters had been left at their doorstep. Elliot curiously picked them up, and was pleasantly surprised to determine that all items were for her. She sat in her favourite chair in the sitting room and eagerly opened Jane's letter first. It was addressed to Elliot, but Jane quickly switched to calling her Lizzy in the body of the letter. Elliot absently smiled as she read her sister's elegant hand, as it relayed her whole family's birthday wishes. Jane vowed once more to keep her secret from certain members of her family, and commented favourably on her weaving the tales of Mr. Amiablepuffs and Sir Grumpyface's adventures in Cambridge. She missed her dearest Lizzy terribly, she said, and could not understand why their father was so bent on sending her thither. Jane sympathised with what she believed Elliot suffered at the hands of other undergraduates, but she also lamented her lack of power to amend the situation. In the closure, Jane wished her happy birthday again, and hoped to hear from her soon. As a post-script, she assured her there were presents ready at home, waiting be opened as soon as winter break brought her back.

Grinning with pleasure, Elliot set down Jane's letter, promising herself to read it once more before she retired that night. Two more letters remained, one unsurprisingly from her father, and the other from Mr. Fitzwilliam. Her heart leapt at seeing his masculine hand, and with a wildly beating pulse, she began reading. It was addressed to Elliot, but inside the greeting was also extended to his twin sister Miss Elizabeth. He very cordially wished them a most pleasant year of health and success, and even attached an artistically designed bookmark to complement Elliot's love of reading. Although the missive was not as lengthy as Jane's, Elliot could not help but feel thrilled that Mr. Fitzwilliam remembered her birthday!

Finally, she opened her father's letter, expecting to see his usual careless lines and brief message. The paper, however, looked rather worn at the edges and yellowed in colour. Instead of the concise lines she anticipated, the missive spanned two entire pages, and was to arrive with a complementary package. Surprised, to say the least, Elliot fervently began to read this oddity her father had written.

_To my dearest son,_

_On this day, you will have turned fifteen years old. If all of my settlements have remained intact, and if my deepest wishes have been fulfilled, you will have already submitted quite a quantity of essays of the finest calibre. If this is true, I am in no doubt that you will be enjoying your stay in Cambridge, as it is in your character to do. Regardless of the above, I can only express, with all the biased opinion of a proud parent, that I have every confidence in you achieving only the best scores during your time in school. Since your earliest childhood, I have known that, despite your physical disadvantage, you were destined for something greater than can be achieved in the confines of the unvarying society in Hertfordshire. My own experience in Cambridge twenty years ago was enlightening, and I look back today to assure you that they were some of the happiest hours of my life. I could never begrudge you this pleasure, for you and I have similar dispositions that do not take well to constraint. You must, therefore, not worry about our financial situation at home, for all the expenses have been premeditated and calculated to the last farthing, and I implore you to enjoy the prime of your youth without restraint._

_I know you well enough, son, to anticipate your wish for the quiet and peace of the confines of your own room. I implore you to think again on the matter. You are still in the midst of your most virile years. Take this chance to establish a few connections in Cambridge, and to partake in some sporting during your leisure time. If any of your friends are rich and handsome, your mother demands that you introduce them to your sisters. But I digress. Perhaps the boating club might interest you, for a little exercise will add to your physical well-being. I can also recommend Trinity's chess and debate clubs, which usually host tournaments at on the second or third week after the beginning of lectures. I have written to my former professor and current friend, Mr. Wiseman, to act as your tutor. Once again, I cannot express how overjoyed I am to see you grow into a respectable man, and to know I had a hand in sculpting at least part of that greatness. Please do sit down now, if you are not already settled, for if you think this letter has been entirely out of my usual character, you will only be more surprised to read the rest._

_Inside the parcel, which should accompany this letter, is my gift to you in celebration of your growing one year older. It is my fervent wish that you employ it to record your days in Cambridge for future reference, and for the simple pleasure of immortalising these three years within it. I know your disposition, my son, and your lively talents will greatly contribute to your flourishing in school, thus it is all the more important to remember your time there. I am positive you will look back upon these writings with a tender feeling, once you reach my age and have settled down with a family._

_Now, to balance this unusually lengthy and serious letter, let me close by divulging that only two more of its kind are in existence. Perhaps, if you are persistent in your writing home, and if I am tenacious in my lack of answers, you will have forgotten all about your father's abrupt bout of clarity._

_In hopes of receiving many more letters to ignore,_

_Your affectionate Papa_

Puzzled, but not displeased, Elliot found in the package a heavy diary, spanning two hundred blank pages. It must have cost dearly, for the binding was beautifully worked, and made of the finest leather. She had just gently caressed its beautiful exterior when Mr. Darcy returned, and she hastily stowed her letters away.

"Bennet," Mr. Darcy said as she rose. He held a rather large package under his arm, which he deposited on the table in front of her.

Perplexed, she asked him what it was.

"That is for you to find out," Mr. Darcy replied, as he encouraged her to open it.

Her eyes widened in disbelief at receiving a present from Mr. Darcy—_Mr. Darcy!—_for her birthday. Elliot stared at him in utter shock.

Mr. Darcy lifted a teasing brow. "It is not going to open itself."

Elliot tentatively reached for the huge parcel, her eyes never leaving Mr. Darcy's amused face as she opened it. When she touched the familiar pieces within, she knew at once what it was, and was baffled by Mr. Darcy's thoughtfulness. "A chess board!" she cried in delight and amazement. The entirety of it was carved in crystal, each piece with its unique features, and by the weight of it, Elliot knew it to be of the very best quality. What she could not guess, however, was what she had done to deserve his good opinion and generosity.

"I am not in the chess club, but I hope that on idle nights, we might partake of a good game, if only to diversify the ways in which we inevitably end up in a squabble. I believe our verbal duels, at least in the future, will more naturally be enjoyed during debate club hours," Mr. Darcy said with a smile.

"I… I am quite at a loss for words. How can I accept such a gift?" she asked, suddenly embarrassed at her earlier display of emotion.

"Do you not appreciate it?" asked her roommate with a frown.

"No, quite the opposite. But I do not have anything for you," she blurted.

"It is not my birthday, so I think that perfectly typical," he countered with an amused expression.

"Do you often… bestow upon your roommates such beautiful gifts?"

"No, only my sister, and perhaps close family," he divulged. "But you must understand that the grounds of Pemberley, my home, are large. I have been educated with private tutors in the comfort of my study since boyhood. This is the first time I have been away from Derbyshire for such a long period. You remind me of Georgiana, you see, and I miss the look of sheer pleasure on her countenance whenever I present her with gifts and toys. So you must accept it, for I have given it with at least some hope of selfish enjoyment." His grin turned boyish.

Elliot had never seen him so open and determined to please. In light of her feelings of homesickness, she could not gather enough strength to refuse him his gift. Instead, she hoped to convey her gratitude with a heartfelt smile, and thanked him sincerely for the chess-board.

Mr. Darcy, however, lost his good humour ere long, and began to look agitated. He appeared as if he had more to say, but did not know where to begin. "I have something else…" he began awkwardly.

"No, please, I could not accept anything more!" Elliot cried, her astonishment now complete. What had Mr. Darcy consumed this morning, to have altered him so?

Her roommate removed another, smaller square from his pocket and handed it to her. It read: For Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elliot felt her face grow warm. "Sir! This is hardly proper!" she protested, suddenly agitated herself, for she realised why he had gone into the woods so early that morning.

"It is not as it seems," Mr. Darcy replied forcibly. "Your sister… she lent me her handkerchief when I encountered her, and by the time I had finished using it, it was soiled. Think of it as nothing more than a thank-you for her thoughtfulness. It is a new handkerchief, and she may, if she wishes, embroider her initials on it again."

Elliot had no other option but to gracefully accept both parcels.

With that said, Mr. Darcy retreated within the confines of his study.

Later that night, as Elliot settled into bed, she was half-annoyed and half-amazed to find her cheeks remaining redder than the rouge that decorated the finest ladies of the _ton_.

**TBC**

* * *

[1] Name given to undergraduates at Kings' College, Cambridge. Trinity and St. John's equivalents are respectively Trinitarian and Johnian.

**Next up: **The long-awaited water party with Mr. Fitzwilliam and other upperclassmen of both Trinity and St. John. Three-legged races, treasure hunts, wine parties and a late-night test of courage coming right up!

Are y'all ready for the water party? 'Cause it's gonna be a blast! Leave a comment with your expectations, here!


	8. A Water Party (and Some Mishaps)

Aaaand, I have managed to keep my promise of updating twice this week! Hurray!  
Do you know who are the best people on this planet? Betas! (You will know by the end of this fic at the rate I'm going). All thanks goes to Linda and Jim! (And all mistakes remaining are mine, so hurl them rotten tomatoes at me!)

That and you cannot spell "University" without "Alcohol" (trust me, I'm an undergraduate myself). Therefore, let the booze flow aplenty in this chapter! Without ado, I present you:

* * *

**Chapter 8: A Water Party (and Some Mishaps)**

Mr. Darcy and Elliot were amongst the last to arrive at Saturday's water party. They had not intended to tarry —indeed they made it just in time— but by their arrival the party had already begun in earnest. Several undergraduates from Trinity and St. John's Colleges sat in various postures upon the grass, some even so daring as to lay down with their boots thrown carelessly to the side. The weather had mollified on this fortunate day, encouraging many to absorb the last moments of warmth before the winter cold. It was not uncommon for water parties, by far the favourite pastime amongst gentlemen, to start before the designated time; a bottle of good wine only had to be opened for undergraduates to enjoy themselves thoroughly for some time. Mr. Fitzwilliam, on seeing his last two guests approach, walking side by side without a wayward remark passing between them, stood with a wide grin.

"Darcy, Elliot! I am glad to see you have not clawed each other's eyes out in the two weeks since our last meeting!" Mr. Fitzwilliam exclaimed as he reached their side and gave them each a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Fitzwilliam," acknowledged Mr. Darcy impassively.

Upon seeing that the outgoing Elliot kept his eyes mostly to the ground, Mr. Fitzwilliam asked if anything was the matter with him.

"No, sir," she answered meekly. The sight of so many respectable gentlemen, acting so unlike what they usually did in front of ladies, suddenly rendered her uneasy. She suspected that the opposite sex, just like women, would shed some of their dignity when away from the eyes of society, but she had not expected this much liberty in their behaviour. Some men, already having imbibed a few glasses of brandy or port, had loosened their cravats and shed their school caps and gowns. Others were divested of their boots, unbuttoned their cuffs, and tousled their hair. Few of them retained their respectability and, with no women present, she was certain even fewer deemed it improper. She felt she was intruding upon something forbidden, and could not help feeling rather distressed. It was as if she were in Mr. Darcy's place on that fateful morning when he happened upon her running in the woods. Her actions would have been improper in company, but she had not intended to be _seen_ in company. Now, as she peeked at the various men comfortably laying on the grass, oblivious to her gender, she dared not look any of them in the eye.

"Oh come, Elliot, do not tell me my cousin has turned you into an insipid, timid creature!" cried their host of the day.

"No," she replied, a little too hastily. "Mr. Darcy has done nothing of the sort."

"Well, you are unusually quiet today!" Elliot's inquisitor accused.

She sat between Mr. Fitzwilliam and his cousin without a word, baffling the Johnian even further. Mr. Darcy, likewise, kept to himself as he surveyed, with a lifted chin, the half-drunken men around him. Elliot need not look at Darcy to feel his unease and contempt in front of so much mindless indulgence. Mr. Fitzwilliam sighed dramatically, but could not hide the knowing smirk stretched upon his features. He cleared his throat in a most uncivil manner, but it was enough to captivate the party's undivided attention.

"Fellow gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that with the arrival of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Mr. Elliot Bennet here," he paused and gestured in their direction, "our little party is now complete. I have planned some quite adventurous activities for the rest of this afternoon, but until we start you may enjoy all the bottles you wish, for we have port flowing aplenty!"

There were some cheering after Mr. Fitzwilliam's speech; men lifted their glasses in praise of their host.

"Mr. Darcy…? Of Derbyshire?" asked an undergraduate once the noise died down. He had been lying informally upon the grass but righted himself to scrutinize Elliot's neighbour. His gown, sprawled haphazardly at his side, was laced with gold and looked far too expensive to be so roughly treated.

The party's attention, however, was not fixated upon trivialities. At the mention of Mr. Darcy's name, several faces turned towards him, with various degrees of curiosity in their eyes. Elliot could see Mr. Darcy's unease in front of so many less-than-proper strangers.

"The very one!" Mr. Fitzwilliam confirmed with some humour.

"Well, if it isn't the man who slighted my elder sister two seasons ago!" the other exclaimed with a chortle.

Had Elliot been drinking, she would have spluttered it out in a most unladylike manner. But the gentlemen around her performed the task in her stead, some of them hunched over to keep their shoulders from heaving as they muffled their laughter. Mortified, but nonetheless amused and curious, Elliot stole a glance at Mr. Darcy to see how he bore being teased so. As she expected, he was frowning, shoulders tense, eyes ablaze. He said nothing to disparage the gentleman and did not come to his own defence.

"Lord Travis, you old cock!" cried another undergraduate to Elliot's left. "Now that you have brought it up, I must hear the entire story!"

Although she was appalled with the man's unconstrained prying, several others joined in with his plea, and Lord Travis had no choice but to relay that fateful tale. He appeared to quite enjoy the attention, and the three cups he had already consumed removed any qualms about displaying himself foolishly in front of the party.

"Well, you asked for it!" he began, sending an unapologetic grin Mr. Darcy's way. "Two seasons ago, Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, heir to ten thousand pounds per annum, finally made his official debut in London. He was quite taken with my eldest sister, you see, for she is a handsome creature indeed, with the face of an angel."

"Come, now! That is hardly believable, for she is your sister and you could not be a fair judge," someone cried.

"Shall we ask Mr. Darcy, then?" said Lord Travis.

Before Mr. Darcy could reply, however, Mr. Fitzwilliam quickly stood and said: "Well, look at the time! If we do not hurry with the treasure hunt, I am afraid we shall have to navigate in the dark!"

Several voices, heavily-slurred and inebriated, protested the suggestion of physical activity.

"Well then, I believe I shall just have to keep this little treasure…" Mr. Fitzwilliam said, lifting what looked like a very old, very exquisite bottle of wine, "…to myself!"

Elliot would never forget the look upon some men's faces at seeing the bottle. Many scrambled to sit upright; the fog before their eyes suddenly cleared and was replaced by greed. She knew not what was so special with that particular bottle of wine, but even with her limited education, she could surmise it was of the finest quality. The undergraduates tried in vain to close their gaping mouths as they observed the prize.

"Good gracious, Fitzwilliam, where have you acquired such a beauty?" inquired one of them, his question reflected upon the countenance of every other man.

"That is for me to know, and you to never find out!" grinned their host. "Now, who wishes to participate in the treasure hunt?"

The men competed against each other to stand up first.

"Since there are so many of you, and only one of _her_," Mr. Fitzwilliam gestured elegantly to the bottle, "you shall have to work in pairs. Find a partner, for that is the only way to participate. Once you have paired off, I will explain the rules of this afternoon's party!"

"Bennet," Mr. Darcy immediately said, looking at her with an expression that would not tolerate a refusal.

"Team number one: Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elliot Bennet!" Mr. Fitzwilliam immediately echoed.

Elliot could only resign herself to her fate. Any hope she had retained of being freed of Mr. Darcy had been shattered some time ago, and she would no longer be surprised if Mr. Darcy insisted on being present every waking moment of her life.

In a short time, six other teams were formed and their host began explaining the rules of the treasure hunt.

"In these grounds are hidden items that you must retrieve in order to accumulate points. The first two teams to return with all assigned items will win the first round. They shall be the only two teams to compete tonight in an ultimate test-of-courage. Therefore, only the fastest, cleverest, and most fearless of all shall be worthy of obtaining _her_, to savour her sweet taste and subtle delicacy in the privacy of your quarters."

Mr. Fitzwilliam held up seven pieces of folded paper tauntingly. "These are your guiding maps. One shall be assigned to each team. Inside are riddles that will bring you to your next destination. Every time you solve a puzzle, you must travel to the correct location and collect the required item. I have friends stationed here and there to ensure everyone's safety and honesty."

"Come, do not tarry Fitzwilliam, we are eager to begin!" someone protested.

"Well then, your first task is to collect one of these maps from me. I shall be standing over there," he said, pointing to a tree some distance away, "and the first of you to reach me shall obtain the easiest map to navigate. Subsequent maps become harder to complete, therefore this first step is crucial to victory. You may designate the fastest of your team to participate, for only one of you is required for this first challenge."

There was some murmuring amongst the teams, as each debated who to send to ensure a better chance of victory. Elliot was about to suggest Mr. Darcy for the race, for he was much taller, when Mr. Fitzwilliam retrieved seven empty flour sacks and dropped them in a heap to the ground.

"Forgive my blunder; I forgot to mention, this particular race will actually require you to _hop,_" he smirked.

The negotiations between team members resumed in earnest as some protested the indignity of being seen jumping about in _a_ _sack, _while others insisted on their inability to coordinate their lower limbs. Elliot decided to relieve Mr. Darcy's suffering by volunteering for this first contest. By then, Mr. Fitzwilliam had already walked to the faraway tree, and even as other teams were still negotiating, he announced the start of the treasure hunt.

Elliot wasted no time in donning the bag and hopping ahead of the rest. Mr. Darcy walked next to him, amused and thankful as he urged his partner on. His face had lost its previous, forbidding aspect in favour of very becoming dimples.

"Well, I daresay you are quite the proficient rabbit, Bennet!" he teased with a grin.

"With so many… sisters… you can hardly expect… any less," Elliot answered in between panted breaths.

"The pains an elder brother endures for younger sisters are great indeed," agreed Mr. Darcy. He cast a glance behind them, and noticed that some had come to an agreement, but none were quite so rehearsed in the sport as Elliot to overtake him.

Elliot hopping and Mr. Darcy walking quickly reached their destination. Mr. Fitzwilliam handed them the first paper with a pleased smile. "Forgive me, Darcy, for Lord Travis' indiscretion earlier. I had forgotten all about the incident when I invited him."

"It is in the past," Mr. Darcy said, but his mirth was gone and his expression had sobered.

Elliot bit her lower lip as she tried to enliven the mood. "Mr. Darcy, let us look at the first riddle," she insisted, as she unfolded the paper. Her team-mate stood behind her and peeked over her shoulder.

_With body poised and eyes alert,  
I stand in silence, one step ahead  
And if some power I am to exert,  
It is in hopes of seeing red._

_Solve the riddle to your next destination. _

"Too easy, Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy admonished as he lead Elliot away. "To Sinclair's Board we are bidden," he declared with some determination.

"Not so fast, Darcy, Elliot," their host warned as he held out a piece of cloth. "I must first tie your ankles together."

"What?" they blurted in unison.

"I am fond of three-legged races. They will considerably slow you down, unless you find a way to cooperate."

"Are we to travel like this for the remaining duration of the treasure hunt?" Mr. Darcy asked, outraged.

"No, no, only until you reach Sinclair's, which is some distance away, but I have faith in your abilities," Mr. Fitzwilliam replied, looking infinitely pleased with himself. "Of course, all of the other teams are to suffer the same ordeal, some with partners worse than yours, so do not dare complain, Darcy."

Her much taller partner sighed as he stood closer to Elliot. "Let us get this over with," he declared when Mr. Fitzwilliam bent to bind their ankles. Mortified, Elliot tried to distance herself from Mr. Darcy, but achieved only limited success for she could not move her left foot.

"The truth is, you are very eager to acquire the prize, are you not, Darcy?" his cousin grinned. "It _is _a fine specimen that even your influence might not obtain, what with the recent unfolding of the war."

Mr. Darcy said nothing as Mr. Fitzwilliam stood again, his task complete. "Well then," the host said with a hint of irony, "Godspeed you, Bennet, Darcy." He then turned to the next team completing the race and handed them the second piece of paper.

Mr. Darcy took a tentative step, but Elliot, not quite ready to follow his lead, lost her balance with the sudden movement. She let out an unbecoming squeal as she grabbed Mr. Darcy's coat and pushed him to the ground. The thunderous laughter around them did nothing to alleviate both team members' blush. Elliot hastily tried to stand, but the binding of her ankle and Mr. Darcy's own sudden movement, only contributed to her falling atop him once more.

Her partner sighed as he grabbed her shoulders to steady her. "We must work together, Bennet," he reiterated as they both sat straight. "Follow my lead, and do _not _attempt to move in the other direction," he declared with finality.

Too embarrassed to protest, Elliot looked shamefully to the ground as Mr. Darcy slowly righted their postures. Once in equilibrium, he did not let go of her arm, and even urged her to hold on to him to better balance their weight. She had begun to protest when the team following suddenly tumbled onto the grass, and this time the rest of the participants did not dare laugh too hard as their own turns approached.

"Come, we must move our legs together, with the same force, and cover the same distance, starting with our joined feet," Mr. Darcy declared. "Three, two, one!"

This time, they met with greater success, for they were still standing upright, and had taken a step ahead.

"Good, let us repeat that motion. On three..."

As Elliot clung to Mr. Darcy's side, she could not help but hope the warmth in her cheeks would abate soon.

* * *

Some eternity later, or at least that was Elliot's impression, they arrived in front of Sinclair's Board. A Johnian waved them over, and mercifully untied their ankles. Elliot immediately bounced away from Mr. Darcy, her whole body still ablaze.

"Congratulations, you have reached your first destination!" the man declared.

"How many more do we have to endure?" asked Mr. Darcy immediately.

"That, I cannot answer. But before you leave, you must solve the following puzzle and choose the correct box on this table." He handed them another paper, and refused to speak any more.

_Three parcels stand before you,  
Choose wisely, and let the thought brew,  
For appearances are often misleading,  
And one false step might prevent your succeeding._

_[1] __Solve the following equation for f '(2) = lim x-» 0 [((2+x)^2 - 2^2)/x] -1  
_

"We would like the third item," said Elliot and Mr. Darcy together, some seconds later. Surprised at the other's speed for solving the equation, they looked at each other with lifted brows as the Johnian retrieved their reward. Inside the third box was a miniature replica of a fencing foil. Quite enrapt with this game Mr. Fitzwilliam had concocted, Mr. Darcy and Elliot eagerly read the hint to their next destination.

_One step forth, I am black,  
Another step and I am back.  
In this world, colours are slight,  
For it only alters between day and night._

Mr. Darcy stood back pensively, but Elliot, in an unguarded moment, grabbed his wrist and led him away. "To Trinity's chess club!" she cried with enthusiasm as she bounded forward. Behind her, she could hear Mr. Darcy's delighted laughter, and she could not help but join in, as both of them hurried off.

This time, a Trinitarian welcomed them at the intended destination. He presented them with a sheet of paper, and watched as they read.

_Despite my rank, I stay weak,  
Belittled by my wife, so to speak,  
But little even she can accomplish,  
If I were, one day, to truly perish._

_According to Virgil in _The Aeneid_, who was guilty of slaying the above character?_

Perplexed, Elliot stood in contemplation. It was quite clear the poem referred to the king, but what is the connection between chess and _The Aeneid?_ "Mr. Darcy, I am at a loss," she confessed.

"Quite. I cannot understand why they are referring to Virgil," her partner agreed.

"Well, _The Aeneid _speaks of the battle of Troy…" Elliot began, but was suddenly struck with inspiration. She glanced at Mr. Darcy, and saw the same intelligence reflected in his eyes.

"The Trojan Horse!" they called out together.

Since only black chess pieces were available, Elliot quickly grabbed the black Knight and thanked the Trinitarian. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy read the next riddle.

_With the season, it is clear,  
I am at my best at this time of year,  
A student of Trinity once complained of pain,  
As I unceremoniously dropped upon his brain._

Mr. Darcy lifted his eyes to Elliot, and both promptly burst into more laughter. They bid good-bye to the undergraduate in front of the chess pieces, and hurried to the apple orchard west of Trinity. The student in question, both could not help snicker, was in fact the renowned Sir Isaac Newton. They were discussing their knowledge of Newtonian mathematics when another team for the treasure hunt sped past them on their mounts.

"Horses, of course! Why had I not thought of employing them?" Mr. Darcy sighed and hurried his pace.

"I do not know how to ride sir, so it is all for the best," replied Elliot. "But do you not keep a stallion with you? With _ten thousand per annum _I find that quite surprising," she teased.

"My father wishes for me to learn to rely solely upon myself," he replied with determination. "As I have told you, Pemberley is large, and the fate of hundreds depends upon my actions. My every act is weighed, judged, and interpreted by society. Two seasons ago, I learned that particular lesson the hard way."

"Are you referring to Lord Travis's sister?" Elliot could not help but ask curiously. "The only woman who is more than simply _tolerable_?"

Her partner sighed painfully as he brought a hand to his temple. "Do not tell me Miss Bennet overheard _that! _I had thought I had seen her quickly crossing the street on that day…" he mumbled._ "_Is there not a single word you keep from each other?"

Elliot refrained from telling him that he was mistaken. He could not have seen Elizabeth that day, for it was Elliot who walked past. Perhaps he had mistaken another lady for Elizabeth. Instead, she said: "I have warned you, Mr. Darcy, we are inseparable."

"Lady Cordelia was, perhaps, handsomer than most," Mr. Darcy began instead. "At eighteen, my father decided it was time for me to become _eligible _to the ladies of the ton. I had attended balls and _soirées_ prior to that, but I had not yet become the centre of the matrons' attention. That night, I made the mistake of asking her to dance a second time, to avoid the attentions of another lady. Needless to say, to many, I was as good as betrothed to her by the end of the evening."

"So you were not crossed in love?" Elliot asked disappointedly. "I thought for sure _that _is the reason why you are so temperamental when in presence of the fairer sex," she admitted, vexed as she recalled his slight of her true self— of Elizabeth.

"Good God, I am but twenty. May the Lord spare me from love and matrimony for at least eight years still," he exclaimed with a look of exaggerated desperation. "But in all seriousness, I have truly learned my lesson. Every single one of my actions will be examined, and likely misinterpreted, by others in society, and thus I cannot live in an unrestricted and easy manner. In order to remedy my mistake at the assembly, I had to cut ties with Lord Travis, despite my father's long-time alliance with his father. Theirs is an influential family, and the loss of their connection cost us dearly."

For the first time, Elliot looked at him carefully, seeing his fastidiousness and severity in a new light. "Sir, forgive me my earlier attack… it was uncivil of me."

"No, I can hardly discredit your defence of your sister. I… my cousin was purposely taunting me, and I was not in a particularly good humour…"

The rest of Mr. Darcy's sentence was interrupted as another team sped past on stallions. This time, they decided to make haste, and ran the rest of the way to the apple orchard. The gatekeeper pointed them in the right direction, and soon they could see a piece of paper nailed to a tree.

_Sturdy are my branches, my roots,  
And I hope the same of your boots,  
For at the top lays your valued find,  
And so up, up, up, you must climb!_

Several paces away, the two other teams were busy pulling themselves up a tree under the watchful eye of some guards, but in their half-inebriated state, both made very slow progress. Elliot glanced at Mr. Darcy, who could not help but ask: "Do you climb faster than Miss Bennet?"

Without answering, Elliot stretched up to the lower branches and adroitly swung herself up. To her amazement, however, Mr. Darcy stepped to the other side of the tree and endeavoured to do the same.

"Mr. Darcy! I did not know you to partake in such unbecoming activities!" she teased.

"I was once a boy myself, you must know," he replied with humour.

"You mean to tell me you were not born exactly as you are now?" she asked in mock horror. "And you will inform me next you are, in truth, the Prince Regent in disguise!"

"Come, is it so very surprising that I am myself a gentleman farmer?"

"Yes, I assure you, it is!"

Elliot, with greater speed and agility, reached the top of the tree before her partner, but just as she reached to grab the only apple there, Mr. Darcy, with longer arms, stole it first. She looked at him in shock. "That is _not _fair," she accused with a chuckle.

"Your only option is to eat more and pray," Mr. Darcy countered, as he hopped to the ground.

She laughed delightedly and landed to his left an instant later. "Well, what is your decree? Do I climb faster than Elizabeth?"

"You land more elegantly than she does," Mr. Darcy simply said, smirking. He had unfolded the paper to read the last riddle, and had quite missed her flaming cheeks.

_At the start of clouds,  
At the end of sea.  
At the centre of time,  
In a word of three._

They puzzled on it for a while, and it was Elliot who ultimately deciphered their last riddle. "Come, Mr. Darcy, let us head back to the _Cam."_

**TBC**

* * *

[1] Fanfiction. net will not let me format the actual mathematical equation. If you wish to see it written properly, please PM me. Otherwise, just pretend the answer to the question is three.

**Next up: **The sun is setting, the woods are waking. Will the two teams manage, the ultimate test-of-courage?

How many of the riddles did you guess right? Comment with your record number!


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